You have no thought how hard to find
That life no longer clock does wind.
Instead the gear has reached its limit,
And I am counting backwards in it.
Ticking off however slow, or fast in cases,
Unyielding measure of final paces,
About this small inhabitation,
I call my home (despite its limitations.)
How suddenly I felt the shift of motion,
A turning not unlike the ocean,
Which rolls and rolls and rolls again,
Expiring up against the sand,
But in expiring does not stand,
Nor rest on laurels of things in hand.
But rather here it pauses briefly,
Reverses course, receding chiefly into
A mother’s womb so long it traveled
Far and far to gain the gavel,
And be remembered as the traveler,
Not be judged against by gaveller.
It seems to me we all must follow,
Paths which lead to certain swallow,
The hard truth sticks in adams apple,
This reversing of which I grapple.
You have no thought how hard to find,
Such harsh a lesson, so late in time.
But knowing I, and sharing this,
Might pry you from your carefulness.