clock

outside 67 Douglas Crescent, Houghton Regis, around 1953

This clock makes no sound

as its moments take flight

but blows away the years

to another time.

The other time:

when wild fields burst

each spring,

when crisp summer grasses

filled the open spaces

and birdsong filled the sky.

The other time,

with all the time of the world,

when grasshoppers frolicked

the jungles we explored.

Now all that grows

over the memories

of youth

is brickwork

the incense of exhausts

and impatience.