Alter Nothing

If I were larger than a cuttlefish
But smaller than a worm, no paradox
Would seem too great: each fall we set the clocks
Back to their former spot, an empty wish
For time to alter nothing; there's a dish
With vinegar, with beef and chicken stocks,
Red wine, green mint, hot chilies and ham hocks
That I enjoy — it's rather devilish.

I am an algorithm, or a prune,
An exoarmature, a homemade flail,
The question on exams that makes you fail,
A childish notion, a rock-scribed Norse rune,
The endless movement on a desert dune,
I am the ocean, and a small child's pail.