Marin Sorescu

The clock has turned its back on time. The clock was ill and, feeling the end draw near, Probably had its own particular notion Of a heaven for objects that die, Where clocks synchronize themselves To God’s heart, And night and day, alarm clocks jinglejangle At the resurrection of the stars. With its big hand,

Last night I neglected an open eye, And all night long I was drawn into The darkness. It was like the black dregs Left at the bottom of things In which I had to divine The world, history, the trees And the progress of the planets. But no matter how I swirled The cup of