Horace, I Dream of Watches
       

windowed thick with sapphire crystals and alive
with hands that sweep around exquisite faces
set in gold or stainless steel cases.

I dream the dream of futile calculations—
the time in Rome or Delhi nocked on gemmy bezels,
the keeping more reliable than ghazals.

Lugs and crowns, escapements and Geneva Seals,
the boaty rotor rocking in a jeweled sea—
these through a skeleton back I see,

like my own bones, my own heart ticking on reserve
until there's nothing left to dress for. Please,
when the main spring's sprung and the gears all seize,

let there be more than Jove's winters to give.
Time may keep. I'll keep time while I live.

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Copyright © 2019 Gary J. Whitehead All rights reserved
from Strange What Rises
Terrapin Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission