Reprinted from Kerygma Vol. 1.1, Spring 1961, with permission
We’ve bathed encrusted chronos in the sea,
Strewn it on the beachhead to be dried,
And stretched the locus of that flooded dial
Toward limber lengths of sodden fluency.
While time that dribbles down the sides of walls,
Draped in dishrag fashion on a shell,
Or, pendant from a tree branch by its neck,
Points fingers at the melting numerals,
A clock makes court to insects on its case;
They scramble on its gold back and preside
Or swarm the clacking wet works to debase
Each metric tick into obliquity.
Time’s flow through memory thus realigned,
The hands sweep round in former full degree.
— Robert Dupree
Irving, Texas 1960
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