"Time"
Because whatever emerges out of nothing with such vividness
that to our side, alien radiance, it must lie.
And to our touch, a divine taint.
The Iron plow dwindles imperceptibly in the furrow.
I sought her wherever I went.
Each thing fulfilling the dicta of its form.
Each followed, none flew, each slew.
Bronze statues by city gates lift their hands,
diminished of detail and polished bright
from the touch of travelers who have greeted them in passing.
I saw the perfected body, its various protuberances,
its moments of wetness, its mouth, the tastes of the past.
For we can now, what we could not before.
Can't we?