I eclipsed all classic clocks, forgetting that time belongs to Allah alone. They were the first to fall to silence. Now time drapes without shape. The honeycomb clock lingers on the wall. It doesn’t tick. It expands. At first, it is almost nothing, a swarm of gold cells pretending to be decoration. Then someone looks at it. A single glimmer is enough. A hexagon forms. No drone. No foraging. Just another clock.
I stopped looking up, Not at once, Not quickly, Never together. Just a pattern of evading what I already started. I saw someone look too long once, Not afraid, Just noticing. The clock did not hurry. It never hurries. Time never drifts fast enough. A perfect cell formed where they stood, and afterwards there was nothing left that answered to their name. Now I understand the rule: the clock does not take you. it keeps what it is unveiled. I walk through cells carefully, like the air is full of open eyes. It is almost broken light. That is what makes it hard to stop. And when I do gaze, the clock is never smaller. Only closer to finished.
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