The bell tower had a door
with an inscription that claimed
it could only be opened by god.
On field trips kids would roll down
the hill that the tower stood upon,
look up in all their dizziness,
and for a moment it felt
like falling from the sky.
They would ring every hour
with a song no one had heard before
but they hadn’t made a good one in a while.
Everything was mechanical within them
the entire process automated.
No human hand need interfere with time.
She stood at the base of them one night
when I was walking by, her body of equal
brightness to the moon. She opened up
the perfect door and with the dangled ropes
inside she made a song fit for herself,
that rang like realizations of a name.
The Bells
Teleporting Typewriter 