The Beehive Clock

Time was behind a dusty stack of books,
its fallen face looked at me askance,
forgotten, frozen hours, found by chance.
I turned away, then back again, and took
a second look at what’s been put to rest
upon a basement shelf outside of time.
A chiding, “Out of sight, out of mind.”
I thought a minute, then I acquiesced.
Now I sit alone at evenfall.
I bury what remains within these rhymes
and listen to the ticking and the chimes,
reminding me, reminding me of all
the countless back and forth, the to-and-fro.
“Now’s the time. No—now’s the time.” No…