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My old watch
My old watch is slicing me
little by little,
piece by piece,
second after second.
My old watch is showing me
that it only can measure itself,
not the growing of my beard
or the blinking of Supernova,
nor cycle of the fly.
There are some small parts within:
wheels, rollers, pins and pallets,
working together like my own components:
liver, bowels, kidneys, veins, heart.
Making their little statements
as I move elegantly toward
the lips of the grave;
but there are some miracles around me
too:
12 angels on the pin head,
dogs running under the sun,
ships enter the harbors.
My old watch is life’s chain;
it goes from father to son,
like old spark of fire from
the dawn of History.
My old watch is showing me
that is time to kiss my girl,
feed the cat and
water the flowers.
That is good enough.
Peycho Kanev's work has been published in Welter, Poetry
Quarterly, The Catalonian Review, The Arava Review, Nerve
Cowboy, Chiron Review, Tonopah Review, Mad Swirl, In Posse
Review, Southern Ocean Review, The Houston Literary Review and
many others. He is nominated for Pushcart Award and lives in
Chicago. His new collaborative collection "r", containing poetry
by him and Felino Soriano, as well as photography from Duane
Locke and Edward Wells II is now available at Amazon.com. |
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