Manufactured Heartbeats

Fingertips pushing the hands of time

I move the hours forward

I dance with the space between tiny minutes

A click

A chime

A heartbeat behind dusty glass

Room becomes womb

Cradled in the mechanical drumbeat I sleep and wake and sleep

I am held by the rhythmic chanting of this little clock 
clucking its stories to me as I dream

A simple key can jumpstart the measured passage of life!

Eight bells and back to one

Again and again

and again

Will I forget to wind? 

When will my hours will slow and stop? 

When will I no longer be able to twist and feel cool metal on swirled fingertips?

Anxiety grows: 

the bell will tangle in levers and gears inside 

and I will not wake to do the very important tasks that I must do before

 it all

 we all

this all

 rusts and seizes

The chanting returns me to the core

Listen! it rants

I do

I listen to the spaces in between the seconds

 and dance once more

I continue to wind, 

my heart fluttering to keep up with the tick tick tick of this clock 

in my head

within this room

of this world