by J.C. Hay

Tik-tik. Tik-tik.
Days spooling out in loops and whorls
Building into weeks.
Building into years.

Shaping each life into a sweater,
Or warm, reliable socks,
Or something else less readily identifiable.

Here is a flourish;
Cross-over cable, 
A bobble, 
Fine entrelac colorwork.
Some ornate, some functional,
But all beloved - at least while on the needles.

And they tik-tik
Thin bone clocks
That push each piece towards completion
And that unavoidable, final snip.