Poetry Porch: Poetry


by William Doreski

Ringing the Kingís Chapel bell,
the largest Paul Revere cast,
you leap at the rope and drag
with all your weight and suffer
reverberations that fill you

with the shock of sudden love.
From a safe, empathic distance
I picture you dangling with both
hands on the rope, the clang
assuming a dozen dimensions,

the bronze so thoroughly beaten
itís too tough to respond to you
the way I do, with clapper subdued.
You like the taste of my jokes,
sometimes, but ringing the bell

is serious enough to impale
the silence weíve let ripen
between us: impale and spill
blood thatís thinner than water.
That reminds me how the rain

clatters on the chapel roof
in several languages, mostly
ecclesiastical of intent.
We canít interpret but we claim
a heritage derived from bronze

and granite, leaded glass and oak,
and mistake it for religion.
No one believes in the post
Episcopal God who haunts
this Unitarian space; but

watching you hop up and down
to evoke that tremendous sound
I believe in you so perfectly
that even the rainís conversation
for a moment seems almost true.

Copyright © 2016 by William Doreski.