The back of the sky remains intact.

And this night is still. It’s Christmas.
Last night out of a box
came an old watch, a gift
made from a gift
given by a long-dead aunt and sister.

The watch still ticks
because the brother
replaced its battery.

The watch-wearing nephew has never been at sea.
In a book he read of a ship from the past
lit with St. Elmo’s Fire.  It shot straight up
into, but never through, the sky.

The watch face black behind a clear glass pane.
Its two gold arms sweep slow
across the dark, notch to notch.

They never sunk, never flew, and are kept
just barely from silence.

‍© Hennie Stander