OLD WATCHES

The past remains unmarked and the future must wait its turn.
The present alone presents its pulsing face
as the impatient world stamps its collective foot.
Now I can no longer see circling hands descending then rising again.
I miss my analog watch.
I miss the clock face, that round table of numbers
those champion knights of the passing hours.
I've searched all my dressers for my old timepiece but can't find it.
Its slow, steady hands
are like the arms of the elderly Chinese gentleman
doing Tai-Chi in the park,
how each morning his body gracefully unwinds,
and his hands move in wide steady circles
The routine is strict, the concentration total, eyes tightly focused inward,
and yet he pauses from time to time, just for a moment,
to peek at a passing bird.