The clock is a curious device that foretells our doom, the gears grinding their iron teeth below the clock-face, ticking off the hours.
The hands of time twisting circular in the glass, the hands that point to a time when the watch stops, when the clock-face freezes and time is left frozen upon the wall.
The watch is a clock
chained by iron manacles to the wrist,
that time may follow us among the trees
So the watch-dial can tell us of time
wound circular around the wrist, tightened
as we gaze into the watch-face and
see our own reflection,
the face behind the watch.
The sun is a clock whose watch-face burns the eyes.
The earth and moon are the ticking watch-hands in orbit.
This is the clockwork that counts eons,
celestial watch-hands twisting around the sun-dial
somewhere out in space.