Tick Tock
there's some comfort,
small, in the ticking
of a clock,
measured, steady,
time in easy rhythm.
life in co-joined cogs,
chained by gravity,
hung taut in weighted pinecones.
we laughed at the cuckoo's dance,
but secretly feared he laughed best.
But with you, the hands turned well,
round the face,
marking moment's dance,
minutes bled to hours,
flown to years,
until we wound down,
dust mingled,
indistinct,
drifted off,
in timeless breezes...
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