September

Even I May

In my mind

when I imagine them,

church bells always ring evenly,

one after the other

and spaced well apart

to pass the time.

Now here I am,

it is not even noon but ten past

and the bells are ringing

one over the other

like lapping tides

in lapsing time:

ding dedong, dedong ding

dong, ding degong!

Can it really be

that the timing of the bells

has changed so much?

In a small town

I had a structured upbringing,

and the bells always rang evenly

and on the hour

at the parish church,

like the chuffing of the train

that passes by the mill dam

every day at noon.

Now I am here

and the trains pass all the time,

and there is chuffing and ringing

from all around.

I think the bells have loosened

in this place,

as even I may.

Ruelle

Oh Ruelle, you street between streets,

swept between the affairs of working streets

you long to feel the footsteps of,

what right do I have to tell you what to want?

You with your wrought-iron stairs

and clotheslines of drying fare,

whose snowbanks are not cleared until

summer flowers spill over the rink-sides,

who peer into the street from lowered elbows

to watch the wiping clear of brows,

how can I tell you that you don’t need their affairs,

that you are more open when you are closed,

that you are tender cartilage between working joints,

and that every working street needs its ruelle

so that every commotion may have its coming to rest?

Maybe I am selfish. Rest with me now, and not long,

for the day is done, and I come to you

with more important affairs.