The Clock

He asked for the clock.
Because of the crisis he slept at my house.

A new friend said it was better to be west.
The hour distance was too much, this way

the impossible miles made sense
I say to him, smashed against me, you can sleep

with the clock, cuddle it like your bunny.
I think of puppies weaned from their mothers,

bitches, even for dogs, such a rough word.
Small dogs by hot water bottles, a clock ticking.

The names are starting to come up again,
each with its tiny explosion. Ire creeps in.

Konrad Lorenz says we are to stay in each emotion
Fifteen minutes. We get stuck for days.

I like Konrad Lorenz with his grinning geese.
I like the past and not much for vision. Mostly

I hang on. I grip the read with stout regard
For the earth. Gravity and time I understand.

I sleep next to this ticking boy. He’s already lying
about his age. Claims four when he has some months

To go. I catch him. When they call me
I catch. I am here, one hour from the fray.