The clock’s wink

Catriona Knapman



The clock’s wink

I am sure there is something else
beyond the winking clocks
and the grins of dogs
that follow me through the streets, home.
I tell myself, there is more than meets
the eye, but the days do not change
as we hoped they would. Hands circle
the small faces of clocks like windscreens
being wiped clean. Second time round
I might have caught it: the shut-eye
of truth, at three am. Trapped
by howls and helicopters
I do not think to remember the hours
Not then.

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