On November 1st we went back from daylight savings time to standard time… I wrote a poem, or a few lines past half a poem, and I turned the page in my notebook without finishing. I came across it today and decided to finish it, so I added that last four lines.
Daylight savings time stopped at midnight
and all the clocks have been changed in my house
to accommodate the shift back once again to Greenwich
but my body has no buttons to push to make the change in me.
Something in me resists this fooling around with time
which I have never understood anyway.
Is it anything of substance,
this something we have divided and measured?
What is a year anyway?
…and a day?
I confess, though, to being fascinated with timepieces:
sundials, wristwatches, grandfather clocks and chronometers.
I prefer poems and photographs to note the passing
of whatever it is we call time