Balance spring

The ebb and flow

of lunar dancing 

in the secret garden

wound our clock

and wounded hearts

around and within

our circles entwined.

The balance spring

tore between hemispheres

half-loves and partial vows.

Your winter and my summer,

shadow and puppet-

not before sunrise.

not after sunset.

What was that promise that you made?

I’m

going

to…

All of her meter and couplet,

and his free verse could not let

the clockmaker re-pair

what hands out of phase kept apart.

Till time does cleave

the water and the wild

drown in calm waves

of bored contentment?

The stars and the moon

unwanted now?

Fickle tongue

tasting words

and flesh.

On what will the

soul feast

tomorrow?

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