The spring is unwinding.
We wound it up with joy.
But now, by God, now,
the spring is releasing and
time will stop, and all that
went into the clock will be
forgotten as the haze of
once lighted yesterdays,
and time will be bought by
those with the power to
say what is a second,
a minute, an hour.

But as for me, my clock is
still wound.
As for me, I am watching
the second, the minute,
the hour, the day,
the month, the year.
Perennial.

I am watching the sun
and the face of the moon
rise and fall.

My clock is waiting.

 

13/6/2026