Anne Kellas #13 On hearing bells at midnight (revisited)

In our suburb the brickworks have closed down
and white noise has lifted from the hill.
I'm pleased, I can breathe again with ease.

But something else has altered
and a space inside me
has opened up, like the moon at half past day.

The rolling bells five minutes out of town
all out of sync with Greenwich

are still.

No midnight toll of twelve
that in my sleep's thirteen, rings
across the streets

no hollow gong at dawn

no pealing sound in storms
no intervals to count the hours.
Who reads a book of hours now?

Who marks this place in time?

Something soft
that sang to silence
in a lordly way allowed
is gone.
Clear as birdsong gone.

And listen now
the bells:
St John’s in New Town
sound the hour

So my poem had said.

An angelus of sorts
has called us into silence

Maybe so.