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3.  L i k e   t h e   H a n d s   o f   

     B r o n z e - f l e s h e d   C l o c k s

With notched poles and sure,

nimble feet, they descend

the velvety darkness

of the mine shaft,

fill the rawhide buckets

with cinnabar, and strap them

to their backs.  With notched

poles and sure, nimble feet,

loaded with buckets 

of cinnabar, they ascend

the velvety darkness

to the hot, glaring mouth

of the mine, and dump

their cargo into the carts

only to descend again;

descending, ascending

again and again like the hands

of bronze-fleshed clocks

measuring and recording

the brutal, interminable

hours of their days.