Count it so I
can discern –
heart a beating scale
heavy with all

the questions of worth.
No judgment this thorough
could fail.
I will know, my wait

lifted, what matters,
a matter of time,
a matter of course,
no matter,

it comes to this:
days are completed,
measures are made.
The earth is a chart

and all it contains
yearns for the tally, the notch,
the nock of the arrow,
smooth clarity

in the target’s face,
contraction in the rings
that planes the mystery,

shavings of faith
like snow vanished in the palm,
warm before I
can reckon.