Bells

July 05, 2021

Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart.

I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name. – Peter S. Beagle

 

When they fly past me, I hear bells.

 

A gentle ringing – like they’re attached to the tail feathers,

Sailing out behind them, as curved wings cut through the cold air.

 

Yet no matter how fast I run, how desperately I search,

They always outfly me. The ringing always fades.

 

 

When I see you, I hear bells.

 

 A warm dong – like autumn soup reverberating through my chest,

Heating me up like a cup of cocoa, sipped under an amber blanket.

 

And when I loop my arm through yours, fingers intertwined,

The dinging settles down. A satisfying chime.