The Clockwork of Change

 

Gears are grinding

and springs are creaking,

as copper teeth clash into

fiery sparks. Numbers stand in

their sentinel watch to guard

the inevitable passage of time.

Iron and bronze with their gold-

flecked veins gnash together

in harsh harmonious riot

as creation breathes with the tick

tock sound of its constant

and fleeting fly-away change.

 

Some mark its passing with shadows

and moons, with measures

and ‘gators, the rare Mississippi.

Some recognize it by each lightened

hair, by each slim groove scored

deep into flesh. I have seen

it with uncommon sight,

with a crystal-cut scope

to kaleidoscope eyes. The crash

and the whir of the passage of time

ticks sweet to my ears in a racket

of song, for I have bested

this intangible foe by embracing

its touch, by calling it friend.

 

I can look into time and see

five years from now, or possibly

ten, myself, not hunched away

from the wind, but coloring

laughter and sketching out love.

For time jerks on for good

or for ill, and I no longer flinch

at its cold rusting grasp. I can look

 

back, and now it is clear, that I can look

up to the glassy orb that sat in dust

in my teller’s tent. I’m consumed

by the scents of popcorn and spice,

of sweat and of straw as I trail

my life-line to a future unknown

by you or by me. Only time

 

will tell who and what I will be,

and I no longer fear what the Future now

holds clutched tight to her impenetrable

bust, ne’re turning to me nor loosing her

tongue ‘till the clock strikes time

for her to release her locusts

or creatures with more jeweled wings.