how old when you first noticed
the quiet clock in the room’s shadow?
it hides there from room to room
quietly clicking its lips as if
whispering subliminal thought

the children press their skin outward
emerging into adult forms
the inches are minutes

what is perpetual anyway
dust may line its lid
weight it down with age
but its iron hands swing
in their inexorable circle

this woman asleep beside me
like me grows less smooth
with the creases of sorrow and finding

once you’ve seen
the small gray timepiece
it stays fixed in your peripheral view
its faint murmur permeates your sleep
it can drag you into is plodding depression

can this heart push old blood
at some endless pace
can it rhythm wet and unserviced

it can drive you up the sides of mountains
into deep waters, into the farthest dimmest reaches
yes, it’s there, lagging behind
but the running strengthens the heart
and keeps rhythm with its fierce beat

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Corbett Buchly’s poems have been published in Rio Grande Review, Plainsongs, North Dakota Quarterly, and Barrow Street. He’s an alumnus of Texas Christian University and the professional writing program at the University of Southern California.