The Clock Beneath the River

The Clock Beneath the River

There is a clock beneath the river.

It ticks where no sound can live.

I saw it once through broken water,

a shimmer that trembled like breath.

The hands were turning against the current,

marking moments long forgotten.

I wondered if they measured loss,

or only how long it takes to forget.

I reached down, but time is not kind.

It cut through my fingers like memory.

I watched my reflection ripple away,

another ghost among the stones.

The river keeps its secrets close.

It never answers, only moves.

And still, beneath that restless skin,

the clock keeps ticking, unseen but certain.