and listen
in the sixty-
second eye of the storm
known as noon,
the last desperate chime
of church bells—
keening,
then dissolving
in the ambient mist
reminds you of
(or perhaps
replaces?)
the weight
of your grief and dis-
consolation.
For to whom
on this earth
does a silent moment
answer?
Though you're perfectly still,
some part of you
dances.
