A Symphony of Bells
Every loss tolls the bell of every other loss
so that what began as a solitary mournful knell
becomes a pealing of farewells:
The kiss on the lips,
the turning away at the dock,
“Must it be? It must be.”
“Can you see me?”
“For all we know, we may never meet again.”
She took her regal pose in a forbidden place,
looking perfectly entitled. We didn’t know
that she was telling us goodbye.
Later, she appeared in a dream,
but she was running away, not staying.
Mourning for a small animal
brings with it the ghosts of friends
dead, too busy, estranged or distant,
the helpless affectionate shrug
from the spirit about to depart,
reluctant, but having no choice in the matter.
The tolling of remembered farewells
becomes a symphony of bells.
Does it sing of love lost
or love endured
or something else entirely?