Musings

We might as well be doting on clocks

each time we begin to mind details worthy

of our recollections, no matter how

faulty this faculty tends

to become,

as it withers

with age. Our consciousness

would then only house the essential.

Perhaps we wish to venerate them

by clinging tenaciously to memory,

or even fervently ask, When

will I see you again?  as if looking

forward to everyday

like an oath

never

once

said.

And we know enough that this

will not come: twice around the bend

must have been too much of a plea.

What is enough could leave

these clocks wilting as they hang

to tick consistently out of

necessity and exhaustion; weary faces

with soft arrows reminding me

of your tired

yet yearning

eyes.

The space we had

remains arid and bare.

                         What is enough

                         always leaves

                         something behind

and does not stay.

After Dali

Persistence of Memory (1931)
Salvador Dali