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Moon Clock 
by Donald Hall

Like an oarless boat through midnight's watery
ghosthouse, through lumens and shallows
of shadow, under smoky light that the full moon
reflects from snowfields to ceilings. I drift
on January's tide from room to room, pausing
by the wooden clock with its pendulum that keeps
the beat like a heart certainly beating, to wait
for the pause allowing passage
to repose's shore--where all waves halt
upreared and stony as the moon's Mycenaean lions.

You can find this poem in The Selected Poems of Donald Hall.