Beneath the river’s breathless skin,
A clock ticks time where none has been.
Its hands are made of eelbone white,
It marks the hours by dream and night.
No man has seen it, save the moon,
Whose silver face reflects too soon.
It chimes in tongues that fish forget,
With songs the stones still can’t regret.
A minute sways in kelp’s embrace,
A century hides in a carp’s face.
The seconds swim, the hours crawl—
This time was never made for all.
A ship once sank to hear it speak,
Its sails torn down by beak and beech.
The sailors wept, then turned to mist,
And vanished in a coral twist.
Yet still it ticks, and dreams unspool
Where no one teaches, no one rules.
A clock beneath the water’s glass—
Time’s secret, kept as ages pass.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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