Timekeeping

How many days have skimmed over your tongue

On silver-rust second-hand wings?

How many times have you tasted the sun

And its dawny yellow-dust rings?

-

How many grey sheets of dusk have you drawn

Across the tired mirror-face?

How many nights have you woven, and worn

As a veil of black velvet and lace?

-

There’s no sun-dial city, no clockmaker’s lair,

No bell-ringing church on a hill,

Can account every second that’s crawled through your hair;

Nestled into your neck ‘gainst the chill.

-

How many hours are inside your eyes,

That toll behind your voice?

How many rains have washed your lies;

Left behind another choice?