Tick Tock

A Poem by Geoffrey Brock

Milton’s God
                       has the dullest job:
Just the oiled
                       clock of the world
And nothing else
                                to watch: the false
Moves of the angels,
                                     their scheming exiles,
The weakness of Eve
                                     and Adam’s love
Misplaced—events
                                    that lack all suspense
For Him. Each verse
                                     of Milton’s veers
From his dark mind
                                     to the bright hand
Of his daughter, and later
                                              to the ears of this reader,
Where high-wire acts
                                         of meter and syntax,
Meaning and measure,
                                           give time-based pleasure—
While for Him it joins
                                          the mortal noise
Of the last bells
                             as soon as He wills
Light into being.
                               So much for all-seeing.

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John Milton, 1608-1674, Poet [obverse], John Sigismund Tanner, 1737, Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington

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