Unravelling and weaving, sometimes simultaneously

The White Clock

The ticking of the clock
you hung on the wall
just days before you left
is louder in the house
than the sound
of the crickets and cicadas
protesting autumn
through the glass door

I’ve never wanted anything
that I couldn’t have
quite as much as I want
your voice in my ears
instead of the relentless tapping
of that second hand’s progress

Soon the nights will be silent
as the cold comes
and even the insects will sleep
their tiny mechanical dreams

Yet the click of the clock
so much slower than my heart
replaces the beat of yours
reminds me how relentless
how oblivious is time

(c) RCGA 2014


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