Precisely placed on the right hand
corner of my desk is a crystal clock.
Perfectly square, edges masterfully cut,
with a round timepiece set in the center.
Perhaps, if I could make it lay flat, it could
be used by my son for geometry assignments,
or, combined with a level, and a good deal of time,
a tool for my wife for perfect picture hanging.
Stretched a bit, more into an oval, the clock face
is the epitome of a racetrack, complete with competitors.
It is lacking somewhat in competitive nature, the victor
being predetermined, losers lapped repeatedly.
Remove the mechanism, hold it just so, and a prism
looking glass is revealed. Though, I do not think I
shall look through. The inner workings of time being
a mystery I do not care to witness.
No, for me, the clock shall remain a clock, a decoration
and an occasional conversation piece.
You may find in it interminable joys and flights of fancy,
for which I may indeed be envious for a time.