Curvature’s bell
Every meter is a clock.
Thermometer, hydrometer.
Weather and season,
rising and falling,
promise or debt.
Every drop,
all things solid and wet.
Each little eye(lid),
maybe half open,
or half close(d).
Even a finger—
something that’s moving
in time
or in space.
The curve of a finger,
and the measure
of a lifetime
and the remains
of everything same.
…
All too soft,
and yet endlessly hardened…………………….
in the stream
that is life
and all times.
Curving around…
even more softness
(like hillsides and waves),
standing too straight
when even
the world
had been bent
out of shape.
Measuring heartbeats,
in time, or in life,
like clock of the living,
against the clocklike machine
of the dead.
Facing ages,
loosing track
of all times
and all lives.
Until each one
almost seems to be the same……
only ever seen
through a mirror,
so very bent,
in and out
of its shape.
Lyrical Impressions 