Bells will herald welcome visitors
and pitchmen alike with no distinction.
Does Pisa's cold campanile announce
the presence of God or other gifts?
The moaning gong, the antiseptic
echo of a chime, the surgical pealing
of a siren, these are easy to heed
or attend. What of the mute
and the broken? What of the silent
knells, the subtle, small tinglings
that deliver news and warnings directly
to flesh without stinging the anvil?
Undiscovered wonders clamor between
the hammer blows. Does the tiny purple
bellflower blast through a tenor -- or toll
a suggestion by fingering the breeze?
© R. Jeffrey Roberts