Clock

Hands, so often apart, count

countless seconds to those

golden hours, midday, midnight,

when, briefly passing,

hand strokes hand.

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Comments

  • Peter Wells aka Countingducks  On July 4, 2015 at 10:53 am

    Very thought provoking actually. I know that because I sat around thinking about it before making any comment. All sorts of levels here: wanting something may not make it happen sooner; connection is beyond precious, as is tenderness and understanding, even if the moment you enjoy it is brief. I could go on, but if poetry is there to make you think, you’ve certainly succeeded with me 🙂

    • fridayam  On July 4, 2015 at 8:48 pm

      Thank you for such a kind and generous comment! I am still thinking about the poem too, wondering whether I have got it entirely right 😉

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