Not far off, the big bells are tolling.
If I sat down now, I’d fall right to sleep.
The world is a heavy wheel, crushing
the ugly and the lovely indiscriminately.
Their blood mingles in the soil, seeps down
to the sleeping roots of things, pushing up
tall stalks with sharply pointed thorns.
Blood-red rose buds bloom, blossom
into light against a deep blue sky.
We can’t resist their perfume.
Bell-like, they resonate at a subtle
frequency with the fragrance of experience.
When I came to your door, the rosy sky
was just about to open. The bells were
to remind us: don’t fall back to sleep.
Entranced by the gorgeous music of our loving,
amazing moments blossomed through space,
extending tendrils beyond mortality.
They scattered in time like fallen rose petals
without our knowledge or consent, vanishing
like the poignant echo of distant tolling bells.
With nothing remaining to add or subtract,
when we are ready we’ll lay down together.
Bells and roses will form that wheel
which rolls us gladly into light.