From “All Souls”

In the cupboard, a pocket watch in its case,

velvet ribbon knotted on the click and winder

black as wet roads, soft as a tongue

in the shadow of a closed mouth.

Its precision jewel bearing is ruby.

Its spade and whip hands would snap off with pressure

from the smallest finger. And yet

the escapement enforces its circle

of unbreakable numbers. Someone

has let it run down. Don’t turn back,

it’s the wrong way, is the relation of

chronology to history at all valuable here.