The mantle clock has stopped. It balks
at the key.Its pendulum swings,
and stills. I burrow further down
into this soft bedding.What holds me up
in this universe of space? A stopped clock,
a dark moon, a mirror reflectingan empty room.
Comment/critique welcome. Original here.
Beautiful, both. Though i prefer, i think, this later one.
What a wonderous gift it must be, dropping words from deep recesses and have them pool in someone else’s heart.
I love this! I like this version better than the older, but both are lovely – what you’ve done with the line breaks and rhythms here goes beautifully with the images, the feel, I think. “Balks” at the end of a line, so that the poem seems to also balk for a moment, is wonderful.
So much, in so few words.
Like a song, with exquisite phrasing.
Such encouragement — food to me.
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