Moonstruck

The roundness of a drop of water keeps me stuck on spin, no flat earth could wash so cleanly. The moon could be hollow, it rings like a bell when struck. I study bells and their carved-out emptiness. I interpret tones and their bongs into words. Last evening I was distracted by moonlight - it trembled. Light is so much faster than bells chimes. Patiently I waited in the shimmer, then came the deep and distant ringing. The sleeping birds heard it also, Owls spun their heads like silver coins. A thunderstruck night sky intoned its obscure vespers. Ears detecting, but the sound seemed not so much outer but inwards - a vibrations of being. The chipmunk who had raced here and there all day long stood as still as a tiger eyes alight in the burning bright hollowness of that carillon call.