The Clock

THE CLOCK

We divide the clock

Into pie segments

To show, self-indulgently,

We are masters of time.

 

Serving up plates, we

Apportion hours a la carte,

Spearing minutes with a fork.

Wistfully, we sip on seconds.

 

We park our legs high

On a chair, lean back,

Saying, this year I will do this,

Next year that.

 

But time yields to no master:

Heedless brute, it is an

Inexorable mule,

Spinning sun, ruthless.

 

Only a cosmic force,

Colossal as stars collapsing,

Warping space like plastic

Has the arm to rein in time,

 

Rearing neighing stallion,

Bull kept at bay.

Time answers to no one.

We answer to time.

 

Already it holds us

On a leash, shortening:

We strain forward;

It pulls us in.

 

Helpless fish,

We must forsake fruit

Just beyond our reach.

And we are bound to tell time

 

Our narrative when it ends.

Now the clock strikes:

Bells ring, sonorous,

Pure as childhood,

 

Shining as youth,

Florid as love,

Consummate as wisdom
…the spring runs out.

Grandfather Clock Face