These days, I have
so many clocks that
when the autumn evening
came, it took thirty-
plus minutes pushing,
turning and twisting before
all of them were adjusted,
in agreement. When I finished,
it was officially the past and
this year, that’s when
the idea came.
If I did the opposite, sprung
forward, every winter Sunday,
December to May,
it would be the definition
of saving time,
temporal investing.
Hiding, hoarding the hours
one by one by one
and only withdrawing when
later, I’ve resynchronized
and almost forgotten
they exist. I will make them
reappear any time I want
to relive a certain sixty
minutes; I could dip into
the stockpiled surplus,
a charged battery. Relive
the ideal hour, right a wrong,
salvage the ill-spent; set my clock
back to complete the incomplete, or
maybe just steep myself
in deliberate déjà vu, get high on
lost time. Draw out the moments,
pull minutes like taffy.
Warp, reshape the year
with a more savory vision.
If it’s done well, it will
be science-fiction, time-
travel. And I will be
the mysterious visitor
from an alternate end
invading, improving
a less perfect past.
(2004)
