Bells Are Ringing | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
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Bells Are Ringing 

It's cold and all the trees are shivering but I don't think they really mind it.
I think it's more like a dance when you're a tree.

The rest of us get goose bumps and ash our cigarettes
in small puddles
just to hear that sizzling sound.

Some things just aren't meant to touch.

If there are not enough people around
fill them in with your head, use your favorite colors, have them sing.
No one has to know
unless you feel like showing them.
I only show the trees.

Without teeth they smile.
Without roots I wander, jealous and afraid.

It'll get better—love will return.

I said "god" out loud in the hospital without knowing who I meant.
I'll pretend that her nature is to just know you mean it's her.
Gods are like that.
Words are like that too.
I used to think love was, but lately I'm not so sure.
Lately I bite my bottom lip and—

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