Little Clock

I

tick,

tock,

this little clock.

Awoken by the same relentless day.

Colder rays, calendar crosses each away.

Wonder and excitement left long, arm in arm, long gone.

Pieces of paper now,

crumpled, wet and blemished

pass by each other on their separate.

They pay no mind to the clouds that outrace the wind above,

the sway of things green, the ripple of blue just outside the edge of this scene.

Once, I wanted to hold tightly this fist of all my years

Now,

I only, only wish the quiet of not knowing.

Tick, tock.

Oh, this looming, Giant, little clock.

tick.