Faceless This Our Clock Poem by James McLain

Under grandfathers clock pebbles...balance..it..
You face it..naked...and stand alone...
It winds across the lines..it sheds one single tear..
When childhood it masks...it runs free to hide..
It fades as winters worn coat.. time wound away..
Long hand..moved us rapidly...onto a rusty chime..
My second hand..gauze as flesh with dust...
It's linseed oil...clingy....sharp..so musky..
Forever it stays as past...no minutes....will spring back..
Crept inside a single shallow year... this cup all drank..
Now tolls the clock we froze...a silver misty grave of fear..