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.
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