ISSUE: Fall 2009
The water clock makes into a measure
a flow so continuous none can say
this thing inside the river has a river’s
sense of time. The moment of the pour
knows no wheel, no ratchet, no rise of trays
the water clock makes into a measure
we live our lives inside and by. Sure,
there are times the pans that fall are days
we bring inside the river. Is a river’s
share of sunlight any less the water
for standing still, any less the race
the water clock makes into a measure.
This body, is it what I am or better,
what I have. So little time to chase
the things inside the river with a river’s
speed and thrash. As if leaving were
the comfort we have left, our meeting place
the water clock makes into a measure.
All things in the river become the river.
