One Morning the Door Was Knocked

One morning the door was knocked I glanced at my watch briefly as the latch was unlocked There in a box made of wood balanced on the brick wall Was a tiny man laying quite still trying not to fall It wasn’t a coffin as he was still alive and breathing He didn’t have any clothes on he was nude as if bathing But then as my arm tingled from sleep, the dream dumped me coldly on a damp cobbled stone street I glanced again at my watch it now had no hands Its numbers had moved around, their order inverted I noticed a child with far away eyes crying, it had stolen the watch face, the tocks came before the ticks, they escaped in a stream along my tingling wrist and arm down into a field where colours smelt of Pine, a bird caught some of the tocks, and devoured them all It made a nest in the wooden box balanced on the brick wall I glanced once again at my watch on my wrist deep inside i viewed an interesting sight, a moon shone full In another skies night.