Tic tac

When I forget to wind the clock up,
the inanimate silence in the kitchen attracts my attention.

The future ripens in the past,
an awareness of the passing of human time.

I sit at the table listening to time,
aware of the past and future that have made me the human I am,
a portrait.

A shape of a motionless, still time.

What happens if that moment is extended indefinitely?
The opposite of the eternal is not the transitory but the forgotten:
still life.

(After reading John Berger)

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