Clocks

by Jacob Silkstone

After ‘Klokkar’, by Sofie Paulsgård

and sometimes, when I’m woken
by the night train to Central Station,
the carriages swallowed southwards
at the start of the long route home,
I hold my hand against your chest
until your body becomes mine,
my body yours
and still hours until dawn.

when the sea’s tongue traces
the pale skin of the sand,
when the evening drives rooks
with a whip-crack from
the stark black trees,
when the first snow lashes in
and the houses blaze
like pyres against the dark.

when our shadows flow together
like melting tar,
when the air thickens around me
and I hold my hands out
and ache for the rain,
when, sometimes, I lie awake
in the night, your hand in mine
and our whole lives ahead – so little time.