If I stare at this window longer
I imagine it will all come back to me.
I imagine it’s a matter of just standing still
Staring at the world
Like the moth
Seated on a church’s bell
But all the heft and color of the yard
All that man has made
And nature has provided
Can only manage the memory
That once
I was the bell
I was the bell
Stop
I cannot say the word
Weightless as I am
A drab powder of a creature
I cannot now support the word
Let alone survive
One strike of music
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