Day 3,042

This fat day,
with its bare branches, precedes no more

ashes for me.
Wipe foreheads, clocks, songs, stairs, smoke
stands, seeds, souls

down. Just for today. Tomorrow I still may
go lean.

Church Bells of an Agnostic

Church Bells of an Atheist Agnostic

There’s a soaring chime
that can’t be recorded. A murder
of them takes over
the northern sky
as another day crumbles
into itself. Come again 

night. More than six
of them, six beats
to a measure. A rest
is noted but not taken
till each bird has evaporated
into another winter roost.