Winding Down

 
Winding Down 

The clock is wound—and then its coils unwind,
as “Tick-tick-tock!”, its seconds-hand goes ‘round,
until it’s all unwound—and then it stops
and waits for us to wind it up again.
 
So also it may be with each of us.
We each are wound—and then we each unwind,
as childhood, youth and middle age go by—
and then we might perceive we’re winding down.

And so we slow and stumble as we move,
as friction overcomes the driving force,
until at last the pulsing heart has stopped.
Then life is done and death is all that’s left.

Is there a hand that winds us up again?
If so, the spirit might perhaps revive—
but not the body or the burdened self
that sheds its baggage—and its claim to life.

2018 February 16th, Fri.
F train, running on the D line
between Atlantic Avenue and 
Fort Hamilton Parkway, Brooklyn