I’m in a wide deep river
that flows onwards to the sea.
The wind gusts at my back
in spite of the lee.

The bleak banks are far away,
the murky waters are swift,
my feet don’t reach the river’s bed,
I’m floating lonely and adrift.

Once every so often
I bump against a big rock
that my hands will firmly clasp
to stop the tick and the tock —

but the rock is slick
with the slime of passing time
and I slip on and on
to the sunset light sublime.

Look: All around are scattered people
failing too to stem the flow
as the tireless river hurries on
towards the sunset’s vesper glow.

Then I start to grasp
that to fight it is to fail
and I must be one with the river,
not see it as my jail.

And now, and now, and now:
As my thoughts flow consoled,
I float as one with clockwork water…
each bobbing second turns into gold.