My uncle, dead inside his clock. A grandfather clock. A dead uncle in a dead grandfather clock. We threw my uncle into the pond just as he had asked. At our last family gathering, back when we knew to chew through the fog. My uncle's lost, my uncle's gone, his gone was undocumented. His gong was tossed aside. An untimely demise with no doctor to ponder the route. I doubt my other uncles thought to huddle around a common fire, to itch their limbs for ticks, picking and lifting and ditching the dead.


.