My clocks go crazy at midnights,
They crawl down the walls,
They are reflecting gloomy lights
Of Moon. And my eyeballs.
They show the time of quiet walks
Through cold and snowy Land,
They chime non stop, they cry and talk.
I’m barefoot. I stand.
Then I am walking by the creek,
Boreas curls my hair.
Cornflowers’re watching, blue and bleak,
I’m walking by. They stare.
Reflecting gardens, roots and grass,
My clocks run backwards now,
Grandma, Granddaddy and my Cuz
Pick apples. Apples glow.
They are so loud, scary, pale,
They sure went crazy, clocks!
They are reflecting a balance scale.
It’s yapping like a fox:
“You have been weighed, and found light,
You are returning. Seek
For a cabin, spring and northern light,-
You have been found weak…
The spring’s reflecting eyes and stars,
The falls, the winter storms,
The birds in search of nests and scars,
Chords, sounds, flavors, forms.”
My clocks go crazy every day,
They swirl, the vortex rolls.
The shadows dance around, sway…
The streets, the rooms, the halls.
My clocks are singing through the night:
“Wake up, go run and dance,
Look for the pearls, search for the light,
Lit candles, take a chance…”
My clocks go crazy at midnight…
–
This poem was originally printed in The Local Voice #220 (published January 8, 2015).
To download a PDF of this issue, click here.
