The Workings Of A Clock Poem by M. A Heathcote

The workings of a clock
It can be as mechanical as a stopped heart.
A wingless entity
Naked and caged propelled to flower.
And wings to fly, but doesn't,
For fear of falling. So, watch instead,
Dejected and alone, through a small keyhole.
Spying on all those what-could-have-beens

The workings of a clock
It can be as mechanical as a stopped heart
A spiral up or a zipwire down?
Which is it to be?
A poppy seed opening into flower.
For a whole glorious hour,
Spent in a rain shower
Or a worm castor trodden into the dirt.
Never risking its heart over its head above ground.

Afraid to be a swan.
Pledging to be loved by only one
Imprisoned by self-fear.
Thinking there'll always be time,
Enough time to open your wings and glide.
Only you get to be too old.
And forget how to unpick the locks.
And wind the dial and turn back the fingers of the clock.


The Ekphrastic Challenges
The Birdcage, by Harue Koga (Japan) 1924