Watching the coal fire,
moments repeating themselves
in the flames.
I realise the silence
before the clock chimes.
The whirl of a dry cog,
a spring unwinding a melody
and time strikes.
For a while
I hear the clock tick
easing back into the silence
where time passed unnoticed.
And in the morning
I clear the ashes,
dust is suspended in a shaft of light;
it disappears into a burst of darkness.
Moments are like that.

Rowland Hughes ©