Transubstantiation

by Jennifer Snarski

“Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme.” 
Shakespeare, Sonnet 55

My husband fixed the antique gold-rimmed clock 
That rests atop the piano keeping watch
Over the whorling rhythm of our days—
Incarnate moments sculpting memory’s rock
While tandem tick-tocks meter ageless rhyme.
“Let there be light,” God spoke, divided night 
From day. He speaks, sustaining faith by sight,
As hands arc subtly heavenward, cue a chime—
The hour’s three-quarter call, a triple ringing;
An echo of the bells rung at each mass.
Communication of Christ’s Blood and Body—
This Word that was, and is, “In the beginning…”
By crafted gears a clock completes its chore,
My hours transcend by sacred metaphor.