Clocking
What age? What place? What power?
Marching acquisitions of time, placing markers through bone,
Counting the points.
Herald softly the falling rain,
Shower well the tired minds,
Sound halos in broken crowns,
Open daily the arching colours.
Happenstance happens periodically, made predictable by observation.
I saw the dance of puppeteers and balked, thinking my time was yet to come,
But here it is, the snaking shadow line.
Play serenely the tune of memory,
Follow whimsically the tide of heroes,
Swim lazily into shallow pools,
Consider nothing of the tugging pause.
I find it, sitting heavily in the pit of sorrowful gazing,
Too many tomorrows to find the day when beginning ended.
I hunt it as a switch through buzzing burrows, always behind, sometimes beside.
You saw it and left me with it solitary.
Now I too am past weary of its presence.
Finding you to undo the doing of your flavour has been my object.
Here I leave you, find yourself.
© Sherri-Lee Lavender, 6 May 2019.
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