"Do you remember how it was?" Carrie chuckled. She hadn't chuckled during.
She hadn't felt like it.
Rare
clear moonlight pooled, splashed, flowed,
having cascaded down through the bordering trees.
They were laurels, Cleo decided. And
so they were, for her.
The moonlight
was an Eastern gem, a northern cave of light, and
flowed more freely, purely, sweetly than a lover's song, more
surely than blood, more restorative than nectar
the moonlight enveloped like
a fairy presence like the dust of magic
spun into a tissue soft as silk with
a glow like the end of a dream.
They
stood circled on the platform about the clock
covered by its glass bell; the open metal works
gleaming comfort in the blue light ticking
softly, lightly, steadily, steadily, supportive,
while the couple dressed in Dresden best danced
their dance joyfully forever for the clock
would tick forever on and on nod and bow and
on and lift of knee and on ticking, turning,
turning back the pendulum did twist and torque
and all the little metal pieces gears
and wires went on and on perfectly.
"Do
you remember how it was?"
| Tiny |
| chimes |
| delicate |
| precise |
| chimes |
| sounded. |
| Remember me |
| in the hours |
| beyond my death. |