SECONDS' FOOTFALLS

I hear between the tics and tocs,
in bed within the depth of night,
from both the hall and mantle clocks
the sound of running feet so slight
so quiet that they must wear socks.

To hear them one must listen fast
they follow on time's tics so swift
each step there...and then it's passed
flashed into some sort of rift
as present moves into the past.

Sometimes those seconds must wear boots
on winter nights of cracking cold,
so cold it kills the tender shoots,
boots clearly heard by men turned old
in darkness as the barred owl hoots.

It's gotten , lately, that I hear
time's seconds tipping by each night.
Perhaps each night they draw more near.
Perhaps one night they won't tred light,
that night when time takes me from here.

free verse

In deepest night
when all that's heard
is time ticking by
each second flees
on tiny feet

those tiny feet
bearing each second
from the present
to soon forgotten past

Especially in winter's deep
on coldest nights
seconds Tramp by
in heavy boots
loud boots
then heard by old men
like me

Each winter those feet get louder
perhaps because their marh
nears its end
or maybe
they're getting nearer
closer to that time
when last seconds carry me away

Senryu

Between the tics and tocs
seconds march into the past
as one night shall I