Six twenty-seven, and I’m at my best;
By ten past ten, I’m plunged into despair
Up to my waist-it quite hides all the rest
Of me my helpless arms raised in the air;
Quarter to three (or quarter after nine)
One arm is lowered, as if short of breath
Itself; four twenty: I become the sign
Of clocks stopped at the hour of Lincoln’s death;
One-armed at midnight and again at noon
(I see no difference) I keep pointing high
Toward no hawk, no star, no escaped balloon—
But at the clock’s confining arc of sky;
With wisdom that no gesture can impeach
I know my grasp of things exceeds my reach.
The Figure in the Face
Did you enjoy the the artible “The Figure in the Face” from John Hollander on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply