Waterclock

Razor gears of waterclock,

trim drops from dripping time

preserving from evaporation

what it can of it.

Metronomic microtome

slices transparencies

from opacity into pages

for an endless scrapbook.

Buried pain like unremembered sutures

before the stitches were removed,

winged bookmarks

stuck like wizened moths.

One year of you

dividing time in two

into , not past and present,

but near and far.

Two kinds of time

to strop the razor hands

following infinity

like relentless barber.

Some days seem

a month of weeks .

Some seconds fail,

yet minutes nevermind.

At first, all drops the same

full term and live

full round with both of us,

none smaller than the rest.

Becoming steam,

a consequence

of spontaneous ignition

as we feel and act our heat.

We rise into our cloud as one

ascendant life's best fit

time-round and bountiful

our eyes looking within.

We’re not allowed full honeymoon

before physics brings us down,

pulls us apart and rains us

down the maw of waterclock.

Embrace streams away so swiftly

into the sea of lost and missing things

again anonymous, undifferentiated

sliced into pieces of a sizeless past.

Drops becoming liquid once again

endlessly, you and I within it

but where?

Every where’s the same.

L18 ®Copyright 1973 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.

From Poemystic.com