As Time is My Witness

For W.S. Merwin

One hour lifts me
through the concave hours
reflection side sidling down
stairs glaring into my face right
angle frown confidences
confide fear passages
by hour together broken
by minutes beaded second
by second third time
charming suspicions begin
spelunking long-ago hours
hand over hand combing
the loam to determine
is it really dirt