Turning slowly in the breaking light of dawn
and shimm’ring gossamer whispers of beyond,
the chime sways ‘neath the hinting soft caress
of a yearning summer breeze in ebon dress.
The breeze blows, smelling of exotic birth
in some far womb behind the spicy hills,
and under velvet sable star-pricked covers.
It has substance and presence, it is real.
It’s invisible, not seen, present only as
it touches sleeping chime with lonely longing.
But the unknowing chime resists, unhearing,
not smelling jasmine melodies crooned low
by breezy breathy voice, cool, underlayed
with warmth…and longing, sung forever so…
A last push of love, of longing, then in sorrow
the breeze blows on, by, trilling sad desire
and playing in the always trees of wonder
beneath the hinting gleam of new dawn’s fire,
she’s running in her yearning paths again.
But after, when the day is still a rumour
and night is not yet knowing its time’s passed,
the chime moves, jingles, clangs in hungry memory
of sleepy golden dreams of grace-delight.
It dances, sways, remembering feath’ry touch
and nuzzling spicy smell, and then decides
that it will dance, with open arms and soul
when the longing breeze returns to make it whole.