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.
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 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.