NOW SHE’S GONE
Bells tongue tales, drape chimes about the village gables, felted headstones, knuckled roots of a druid oak, guardian of souls.
Bells joust the night air, bats silking from beneath the chapel eaves, court owls’ sighs, dusk codes sealed by day in mausoleum hearts. Your voice is lost to me and your sun-blaze smile when I dropped by without a warning. Your laughter
silvering the sky, a wedding fete sobering to a Sunday sermon, echo of Thursday night bell drill with a risk to careless hands from rope manhandled, a nudge to let go lest it hoist you up into the chapel rafters, closer my God to Thee.
© liveencounters.net POETRY & WRITING Volume Two December 2021 Celebrating 12th Anniversary
