in a sweat of silver beads profuse,
in a dark smithy with the huffing
down ceremony just pearl hidden,
to feel the bell as slid to the hot left
and cast round right so best to sing:
chimes ring truest in a morning wind
calling again through wet white birch
begging free limits of sinew, a drawn
dawn breath ringing shine bark tones.
Chimes ring clean in quiet harmony too
when white is a here now silence carry,
a chaste escape echoed over noise tops.
Metal too is hammered to chime again
when speech fails under noisy times-
but the breeze speaks quiet truths in
the white past if only you can pause.