Sonnet for Winding Late Clocks

Past noon and I find too late light has made

a dial of shadow before me. Thoughts

poised, mid-strike. An algorithmic delay

of traffic angled in vectors but not


moving. I wind up a phrase to keep time.

Pity the heart is infrequently true

to the hour. Jumpy cipher. Late. No rhyme. 

The sun keeps higher standards. Even you


move in steadier increments than I, 

ten minutes behind at a rate I’ve tried

to calculate to sever distance by. 

If you come and I haven’t yet arrived, 


wait. The clock tunes a hand now to align

a tentative equation: line with line.

Laura Ritland recently graduated from the University of British Columbia with a BA in Creative Writing and English Literature. She is currently completing an MA in English in the field of Creative Writing at the University of Toronto.