Robert Verdon, #73, untitled

lanky bell

humming over the wiry wet

reeds

humid day

like an unburst boil

slime runs in front of the hose,

is gone

white crochet up there

the house creaks

the white tiles blind

brief calm in the red pig face

no funeral today

no bell

wild reeds

clarinet reeds

so far to go

I am home

in a sense of

something

never owned

nor rented,

as each belongs

to the other

we do not live

forever

yet

but I can

still ring the

lanky bell