THE BELLS OF SAINT SIMON
by Liz Rosenberg
1 I sail into the crooked gloom
2 and steer to bed beneath the shining tent
3 of paint we are experimenting with
4 and lay this poor drunkard down.
5 Our town's asleep---
6 wet wires and frozen glittering domes
7 under a roof of stars that fishtail out to space.
8 How many times at this same window have I leaned
9 to feel the same sheet-lightning crack
10 when bats revolve at the horizon
11 and morning slowly rises, plain and blue.
12 He sleeps like a fallen statue,
13 dragging a mountain of blankets as he rolls,
14 his Hebrew hair and beard severely wild.
15 The sleeping twilight grasshopper folds
16 her musical bones at morning prayer: delight
17 dismay colliding as the earth
18 raises its great sinking heart again
19 and listens to the shaken clamor of the air.
20 Five times the church bells break
21 the violet elements to gold;
22 three notes a bird calls in reply
23 as I press both hands against one booming heart;
24 church music and his breath
25 pulling like oars against the dark.
[from The Fire Music (1986): University of Pittsburgh Press]
Copyright © 1986, Liz Rosenberg.
Reproduced for personal use only: do not circulate.