And We’re Back to the Sun Again

It’s always too much not enough
And not nearly enough too much.
In a thousand generations,

Someone, or something not someone,
May sit with your back to the sun
As it sets, to make sense of this.

God! Damocles and that damned sword
Strung round the pommel with horsehair.
In the anecdote, it’s the threat,

Ooh, the ever-imminent threat!
But the king had been sitting there,
And then Damocles sat a while,

Before he went weak at the knees.
Then king went back to being king
Under the sword of Damocles.

That’s it. The fearsome sword never
Snapped its thread and stabbed Damocles
Or the king. Both died other days.

Sure, cruel kings often live short lives,
Sometimes because of their own stunts
With swords and other sharp objects,

But you could wait a whole lifetime,
Breathlessly waiting for that sword
To break its horsehair thread, or turn

Your head and miss it. Start over
With another arrogant king.
This kind of thing goes on and on.

It went on thousands of years past.
It goes on in these horsehair lines,
And it may still be going on

In a thousand generations
As you puzzle out this ancient
Poem, you with your back to the sun.