Awoken Rhythm

The pendulum evokes a rhythmic walk:
a sound of steps that cross, recross the floor.
It drives the hands that travel round the clock

but cannot move itself past tick and tock.
A clockwork slave, a prisoner of war,
the pendulum is choking. Rhythmic walk

down unlit passages. A midnight stalk
that searches faces but can't find a door.
The sliding hands that grope around the clock

are searching for an exit. Hear them knock
against the glass that cages in the poor
sad pendulum. Its broken-rhythmic walk

is ripples bumping boats against a dock
while tides erase the footprints from the shore,
while hands are hurling gravel at the clock.

Prisoners: the key is in the lock,
or in your hand. No jailer can endure
the swing of the awoken rhythm. Walk
away while glassy faces stare in shock.

--for Miss Rumphius: animating the inanimate.
Collection available! Knocking from Inside