I’m sifting through some old writing and occasionally finding decent poems:
A bell rings somewhere in the distance
as the mist drifts in from the lake where
I last saw you, your face sparking
my memory, waking me in the dark
and charging me with the voltage of guilt.
The bell rings out again, and I close
my eyes, allow myself to walk toward
the sound that resonates in the leaves
and flows like liquid into my dry mouth
that opens to speak your name again.