Christopher Roe’s most recent poem to appear here was At the coffee shop after the storm (January 2015).

Bell Dust
By Christopher Roe

Sunday.
The bell ringer
rings the Revere bell
in the gray, granite tower.
Sixty-five times
the bell is struck
and the echo of its song
builds up in the air;
a lingering Om of
bell dust falling gently
upon morning-damp leaves.
Later, when town workers
come to rake the leaves
into bell-shaped mounds,
you can hear a faint tinkling
of disturbed bell dust.
Sometimes when you walk
through the strewn leaves
you might hear a random note
and the ghosts of rings clings
to dampened cuffs
to be carried home.
But then the air falls silent
for another week
until next the dry old bell
clears its rusty throat
of dust.