- tock: and then nothing

The clocks are useless now,
Thieves of time since ever we remember
Seeming to fill the day with seconds, minutes,
And frames for empty hours,
The tyranny of Time, and a draw for the eye
Better served looking for signs and finding them
In the changing landscape or the sky,
Or on faces just like ours and different.

We knew it once, and lost it
To machinery, poor evidence that we live
Or are not yet quite dead.
This may be what Dali thought
Or Munch or Mondrian, as form and favor
Melted on the minute, caught on the edge
Of all forgetfulness.

We ordered the circle into angles, rays
Into lines, digits of easy understanding
To match our growing restlessness.
We strapped to our wrists, nailed to our walls,
Set down precisely on table, desk and platform,
Set deep into every useful thing we made,
Into what would time our sleep or cook for us
Or play for us or entertain our weariness
This arrogance of certainty, assuming we can ever truly know or overpower
The inconceivable anything.

If we could we might already have nailed one on the sky,
Or set one on each ocean wave or on what we call the moon,
Or on the rising and setting sun, because we should see it surely
Preferable to master what it is we think causes awe, uncertainty,
What shocks us into doubting what we think we know,
What shows us nameless shades of changing air, sounds in silences, What is not warm nor cold, nor wet nor dry, nor near nor far, nor young nor old,
The strange new music for the dance of timelessness.