A Land of Clocks

By David Smith

A land where sun and moon hang in balance

Two shadows are cast

The antiphons of light

The chorus of time

A specter appears before me

A face adorned with hands

In the glass I see reflections

With whom I must make amends

It beckons me to follow

We travel through the sand

As sun and moon hold their glare

That accusatory stare

I harken

To the canaries chirping

They sing, singular and perpetual

The swelling melody of time

I harken

To the trees, bearing clocks

The staccatos sunder time

Rhythm of time—accusatory in breath

My eyes meet a fountain

Time’s ticks go slack

The droplets suspended

Some race, some crawl

Time turns to ebb, then flow

My pocket watch pendulum

And those grown in the copse

Velocity abandoned

I see ahead a monolith

Orbited by clocks

I place mine in the loop

A cavern opens up

Within the artifact

I see an hourglass

I gaze upon its sand

He gazes back

My hand touches my reflection

The chalice inverts

I see him drain slowly

My body follows in turn