I remember how you told me once
mountain rims lead on to horizons.

Maybe your theme was a kind of change –
as in departure and arrival

and that you are transformed

by the place from where you see them.

At any rate I’ve felt as much
in the pendulum’s tick-tock

in coming and going,
the chime’s reverberation

through the clock’s wood and metal,
the gate’s decantation on its hinges

and your hand’s easing the latch
onto its keeper in the evening.