(Image from Magpie Tales)This poem comes from a dream landscape I used to visit frequently, the noon sun beating down, nothing moving, the clocks stuck. It haunted me. Still does.
TIME
scared me, unmoving
at noon, no shadows anywhere.
Dead time. I stood still
and waited. For what
I don’t know. Will I ever?
My question hangs like the bell
that stayed harrows
and tractor wheels. The midday
meal. Of the Gods
grinding slowly I understand
only that sooner or later each furrow
arrives at the edge of the field.
(from Connotations)
