bells in the city

bells in the city

where was i? somewhere.

could have been anywhere, i suppose.

stepped out into the street

and a bell chimed.

deep. sonorous—that’s the word.

the sound of brass bones in a body of stone.

the sound of coffins in slow procession

through dim grey streets. people would

stop, bow their heads: people used to

know their dead.

time parcelled out

in slow steady drops

like rain washing filth

from ring of the city sky;

washing mottoes from over the doorways;

melting the sneers of gargoyles

on the old church spire.

i paused, one foot in the air;

waited for the echoes

to disappear around corners;

watched them as they ran

along the windows of the bank.

somewhere a man is asleep

in a bus shelter, out of the wind

but still cold. all these great clangings

gather to him,

their clapper tongues lolling

like guard dogs around a king.

they mark his hours

measure the yellow of his nicotine beard,

carve deep the lines of his eyes.

i put my other foot down.

time resumes.