Rediscovering poems and stories written 20 years ago makes me both cringe and smile. This was always a favorite:


Silent they wait,

His and mine.

Their hands circle steadily, counting each moment

When we are two,

Then one,

Then none.


Perched on the nightstand, with arms outstretched,

They see to be waiting to fly

Far from us.


The riddle of the Sphinx counts it all out,

From four to two to three—

The equation of a life, of our lives—

Crawling and walking and hobbling through Time.


And half-crazed scientists in some distant town

Have made time toe the line;

selling sections of it off, chunk by chunk.


I’ve got my watch and he’s got his,

But tonight they will fly

Without us.

©2015 All Rights Reserved

2 thoughts on “Nightwatch

    • I believe you get out of poetry what you bring to it. But I’ll explain just this once, Paulette. 🙂
      It’s about two lovers and one wanting the night to last–trying to stop time. The watches are symbolic. I know people don’t wear them anymore, but when we did and you’d lay them down, the wrist straps gave the appearance of wings. (to me)


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