Now I can wear her gift upon my wrists,
The reassembled clock-pieces to link
Our lives, half out-of-time with what persists.
These first pair, shared and bought, began the lists
Of contracts of giving, presents for ink,
Now I can wear her gift upon my wrists.
The next two are stiff, worn in Cambridge mists,
And I lost one of our favourites – flat stones sink
Our lives, half out-of-time with what persists.
I hung rings in her hair – this sight persists
When I wish memory’s eye would wink.
No eye can wear her gift upon my wrists…
They only hold together with sharp twists,
Straining but secure, I thought, but now think
Our lives half out-of-time with what persists.
But hands that held are impotent, blank fists,
And the last dregs of gladness, those I drink
Now. Can I wear her gift upon my wrists,
Our lives half out-of-time with what persists?