night

The bronze bell clanged,
but holes of the flute
choked in wax secretions of the bee,
gasped for breath.

He wore a robe of silence,
dark shadows pulled heavy
at the arm where the river
dragged with silt.

Why did I write of the clouds
that blotted the face of moon,
set the earth in coal-like darkness
instead of pearly light?

When I reached for his hand
coldness shut the heavy eyelids
swathing him in a stillness;
my breath was held between time.

Poem A Day

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