There is the sycamore cross Lord,
Underneath the medieval clock
Which draws the tourists;
In watching the jousting knights
Clang they hardly notice
The sculpture of Your dying.
The manufactured hours
Seep past the horror and the sadness.
The ticking of tomorrow’s time
Takes us further, and nearer, from You, to You.
Clock watching, holding time,
How focused, grabbing minutes,
Whilst You are apart, and foundation