The sundial set in the pavement
of the new plaza is
ornament—it has no post.

Moderns distrust circles, though
we live on one sphere, depend
on another for light.

Wheels are accepted
when restrained
to move us in one direction,

down the road to the next
discovery, the solution
somewhere ahead.

The grapevine
of traditional dances—
cross-front-cross-back—

is as subversive
as darning a worn sock.