The clock cell

Something dies accidentally
And the sunlight which has soaked it is wet and obscure
If I continue the lines
The frozen object caught in your hands slips out
Otherwise the day has come to an end

Vacant
When I get home
Standstill current of water
And the sunlight damp
On the blank sheets
I wept onto my old clothes

The elements’ origin
Has been painted by my blood
The rain of cats and dogs on my plantation
The moon is vast

Here with my frostbite on the iron post,
I threw time to the river
Time was a whim dropped from my hands
The moments have been cleared away . . .

The wall has turned blue
The black gown and I
Have been spilt to the river.

It’s a breast-fed calf death

What is it?
Sediments on a neutral background
It could be in a different colour
I began walking along the rope many days ago
The creased moon is falling from the ceiling

Blizzard
A flimsy stone
The frostbite on the window glass
The bridge has fallen down
Silence on a metal tape
Ending at a blind full stop.

THE CLOCK CELL