I
imagine
a tomorrow:
when the end comes
when all is made well
when the lifeless are raised
and scourges reversed
and permanence
and the one
we lost
is
fully
found
I
hold
that good day
mostly in my cochlea
The memory of
of a call not
yet heard
The crescendo
of another
morning
(in some Easter season)
when
for the life of me
all I could hear
was another
fulsome
ringing
of
bells
