Intimations

Sometimes I turn as if I've heard a bell

and listen. I hear its echo, or so

it seems, like a stone dropped in a deep well

Almost silence, then voices hush and swell 

words whispered in a language I don't know

except one. I hear it clear as a bell

Something's very near, a familiar smell

brings back some memory of long ago

ripples after a stone dropped into a well

Close enough to touch, cool caress felt

inside the dream, some music very low

I turn turn turn and wake before the bell

Lips as light as snowflakes drift and melt

The hand that takes my hand is very cold

pulls me to the edge of the secret well

Whisper, a breath, It's almost time to go

So close. Death, is it this patient and slow?

Somewhere there is a ringing, like a bell

The sound of the moon. It's fallen in the well