First Night in Winchester


Brown to Asian to rose to velvet black
                       generous with promise 
a human face makes beauty all its colors – 
                       we know this and forget.  
Jet-lagged, I am watching television, watching 
                       eyes weep as police cordon off a square.
To get from there to here requires 
                       a level of prosperity. 
The bomber sees in the mirror no one himself.  
                       And so half a day arrived 
in this foreign-to-me ancient English place, 
                       long after dim gone dark, 
the rung hollows of fourteen cathedral bells 
                       sound through cloud-scudded night: 
sequence and repeat, again please, that 
                       rhythm jumbled, again please. 
What brain and art first made a sounding bell –
                       at this I wonder and praise, 
as human fingers and palms unseen
                       grasp ropes, and use as asked 
the body’s water, breath, muscle, bone 
                       and brain and weight.  They practice, 
that ears anonymous to them might know 
                       cascade and harmony.
In January’s dark, a summer hour: 
                       they practice light –
they practice to make happiness.