Bells And Bars
In the grey cellblocks
of the circus maximus
there's a mad girl listening
to a bird singing,
to a bird singing,
a soft wind-ringing of lily bells.
The notes are trickled
from a carillon throat
in a dark made of rock;
the crowd flickers its shadows
the crowd flickers its shadows
at the last hour of day.
the notes of the thrush
candle the dusk
like glow-worms signaling stars.
like glow-worms signaling stars.
Nothing moves
but the sinking bright pillars
of burnt-out sun, prison-harsh, and the
wing-blurr of a thrush to show us
what now is a ruin
what now is a ruin
once was a song.
~August 2016
posted for real toads
Bird Singing In The Moonlight, 1939, © Morris Graves, Fair Use via wikiart.org
