The Memory of Clocks

I wake at the break

of heart everyday

~like clockwork~

to a digital world

that needs no clocks

ticking

(loss)

into

numbers that alarm,

–big hours

yet to fill.

to say,

to sorrow,

and

still

(is)

the day after

I watch.

Purely sentry,

who I no longer am

–grows shorter–

(sun well shut of me)

where you never are

–looms larger–

(as fright falls)

unheard numbers that crowd

(and maim)

toss me from jaw to jaw

–and me with my teeth in the wind–

in waking shock.

the memory of clocks

keeping heartbeaten time

–tactile.