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YOU ARE MY CLOCK
I step quickly
past mirrors.
I catch glimpses
of strangers I know.
You are my clock.
I am yours.
I see minutes, hours,
whole years falling away.
Where did you go,
the young woman,
the nursing mother?
When did I appear,
this new me I mean,
my father reborn?
Hold it a second.
The snow of ancient
winters has fallen
upon my head.
I try to brush it away.
but this is no dusting.
We grow old.
The lines point
nowhere
we want to go.
But we go.
The wheel is turning,
and we turn with it.
The hands keep on
their onward creep
toward twelve.
We pretend not
to hear the ticking.
We keep busy.
There are bills to pay.
Isn’t today garbage day?
Time.
Unhurried.
The steady
march
of armies.
Relentless.
February 11, 2008