Gentle the rhythmic pulsing of
The early morning clock.
Subtle the balance of the rocker
Arm, holding the memory of
What has been, and what is yet
To come: tense against the leaden
Weight of history, chain-pulled
To earth, it measures out regret
And possibility. An inward pull,
An outward letting go, a pulse,
A breath, an existential telling
Forth of what is yet to be.
And in the quiet persistent ticking,
A sudden bursting of the chime
Announces opportunity, a calling
To the day and to the task: here is a
Stretching forward and a reaching back,
Attentive now to others’ eyes and ears,
Who listening to the chimes, and bending
To another day, have measured time,
Have lived, and loved, and journeyed on.
This too shall we, with joyous even beat,
For gentle is the rhythmic pulsing
Of the early morning clock.
On sharing a quiet cup of tea
with the family Grandfather Clock,
6.30a.m., New Years Day 2012
