Unaware of God or the spirits,

The pendulum sings

Its becalmed tingle of sleep,

Soft to the lending ear,

Shadowy to the eye.

Pinned to a wall apart,

I watch its fair tongue,

Wiping grace off God’s

Window of glow,

As more holly mirth

Stares raptly into

Both pendulum and myself.

And my feet become alive

Under the thin flood creek

Water of the floor,

And the room fills with

Fluttering moth wings

That bespoke a sorrow

And grew woolen breath.

The way I see it-

Water and light come from the same core

And their familiarity soothes

The wooden tick with a whisper,

Coming from the eyes

That grasp God, clock and dream.