Day gave birth to night, night not fully formed yet
like bodiless lacquerware, a wisp of black limning the horizon
swelling, a pair of hands polishing it to a high finish

Inform those passers-by
who overdraw from spring, that night itself gives birth to night,
like a balloon with a bell inside, so loud in the midst of its darkness that the deaf could hear it all
without themselves being able to form the slightest sound

Do you recall the bell, speaking in a dream city of sleepless nights
one pair of hands polishing it to a high finish
another letting spring rain fall from between palms pressed in blessing, the balloon slipping skyward
ringing & ringing