All night I waited for the sound of bells to wake me.
I waited so long I wondered if they had been rung
but I had not heard. I wondered if I had forgotten
what bells sounded like. I wondered if the ringer of bells
had overslept and I should go wake her or rise
and ring the bells myself. And when at last the bells
were swung and charged the air of the halls
with their bright brass song, I laughed out loud in the dark,
amazed I could believe I’d forgotten the sound of bells.
What else do I think I’ve forgotten that is so wholly present here?
Some sense of purpose? Some sense of communion?
Some understanding of what it means to love?
What if these things are clear, clear as the sound
of bells? Oh fool who waits and waits for something
to appear. Is it possible whatever your waiting for is here?