Clock

 

Glistening cold grey sea, rainbow tree dawn.

Squalls are cockatoos, laugh a kookaburra.

Houses discover shadows, their former forms.

Light colours everything good and thorough.

Glass face resumes its imperious look.

Six o’clock points both to heaven and hell.

Seven forgets all the work that it took.

Square face for ten dollars with alarm bell

Stays put, emotionless, amidst the objects:

Spectacles to re-wipe where night lines left off,

Money jar’s pillar of silver gold subjects,

Crystal bowl filled with key-rings and stuff. 

Writers awake with metaphors to settle.

Others get up and put on the kettle.