Listener

It was the time before time

hung, like a hanged man,

when the second hand of a clock

said familiar endearments

in your exact voice, in the exact rhythm

of your start and stop. Time

to be summoned out of a blacked-out room

to listen for you

breathing

at the centre of the house.

The centre of the house

not breathing

but listening, holding its breath

as if black water had closed over its head

and its heart were about to stop

its burdened beating, swung

between the pendulum and your voice

in the clock, heavy as a drowned woman

it was the time before time,

it was time.