I am wound tight.
With every tick of my heart
two hands move clockwise
around the circle of my day,
and the hands are called
Stay and Go.

There are things I don’t know:
The type of caterpillars
in the upstairs closets –
much fatter than wool moth larvae –
and whether they are hungry.
How to catch fish.
How to find peace.
How to make a clock.

There are things I think I know:
Life is precious.
Water flows downhill to the sea.
Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.
But there comes a time
when it doesn’t matter who’s right
if there is too much sorrow
and not enough joy
in the face of the stopped clock.


About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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2 Responses to 23

  1. Reblogged this on TOO LONELY TO MAKE SENSE and commented:
    This is one of my favourites from a Masterclass wordsmith.

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