“What time do you have?”
Looking down at his watch he saw
in the smallest of flashing increments
the minute hand twitch along its
and the second hand swooping past
around the face
to pass the last notch at vertical
“Five til’ midnight,”
was the terse reply.
And yet he watched the watch
closely, the hairs on the back of his neck
rising as if under hypnotism
and his skin beginning to prickle all
over and his eyes starting to dry.
Blinking, he stared at the dial, frozen
no further ticking to be had and he wondered
briefly at how so small a thing could determine
when morning started, or when lunch began.
In the glass face, mirroring outside the bubble
dome of his mind, he saw a universe made limited
and unlimited together
the slow blooming flower
here now at the top of the hour,
his shadow permanent on the ground.