EQUINOX AT THE BELLTOWER
The squirrel hauls a belly sash
of acorns, the shoes scuff, and
any of these faces might kiss
the sun for its newfound shine.
Their song is ringing.
Round the marble cracks and slim
branches, each singing a melody of
buds, though winter teases, winter
teases. Still, there is ease in this.
There, song is ringing.
The diag scuttles plain as day, the
students crustaceans swarming at
the decay, coming out of shells to
pincer the waking world. Shhhh-
They’re a song, ringing.
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