The clock ticks restlessly on the plain wall.
Black rim and quartz glass make up its form.
Always just a quarter ahead of
the actual time which I want to know.

And I look at it, stare at it, for
I still can't make clear those inscriptions.
When is where and who is what is there?
I still can't make it out quite so clear.

And as I stand to move to elsewhere,
I glance once more to that empty wall.
To find nothing there at all.