The Cuckoo Clock

A pipe-and-bellows bird swoops
low past wavering currents while

the linden wood pendulum sweeps me from
the fleeting edge of imagination to the clear
horizon washed by darkness and light

Leaning askew with querulous chimes as
it pleases and bones brittled with wear

its erratic heartbeat still murmurs in the
wings and decades pour from a single
arch door attesting our faith in the way

we balance the weights to become
who we still are becoming


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