The Hands Of The Clock In Hiroshima Poem by Maria Barnas

They stand on the tower to watch
a horse being dragged to the water.

Where do you bury the dead? They point at the creature
and later they shake it from their fingertips.

Sixty years ago they stopped moving.

The photo the explosion made wiped out everything
except the shadows of those who kept staring.

We have gained a city.
Everything is gleaming and dust-proof.

We have stared at the hands on the tower.
They didn't blink.

We have shaken the bells.
We asked the man who sets them right who

was this done by. Who has done this.

The horse leads history.
They say it has pranced since it refused to shrink.

Translation: 2008, Donald Gardner