Friday, May 31, 2019


    I render those days as
    Colorful as they sometimes
    Seem still, and the ringing
    In the town sounding again --
    Muted though by time even if
    Something still remains –
    Crushed stone, perhaps

    The bell.  Perhaps the steps
    Down from the church and
    Around the corner to the
    Library where when she
    Needed books my grandmother
    Took me.  I reveled in
    Them as well and still do

    Though I no longer
    Listen for the bell,
    And whatever ringing
    There is may be
    Illusion only and the
    Words still here arrange
    Themselves quite differently.

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