A Tale of Clocktowers
It was striking,
match and bell the same:
light stood fallow,
frost on misted shore,
That sunshine broken
in memory, cast iron
caging left wrought
marks against skin.
That time traced along
line (lonesome figure,
town square middle)
was so glass bottle
Cast away from now,
that glory clockface I
spend digital hours typing,
running against together
Tie, waiting for mercy
yet to come.
