A Musical Sonnerie

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A MUSICAL SONNERIE

Bodies

that we used to 

spoon with

on chilled marrow nights

sheltered beneath the

balmy gust

of a downy duvet,

whose cheeks we lip surfed

on birthdays

and on

Christmas mornings

when we stood

ankle deep

in the mad euphoria of shredded

gift wrap

are gone now

replaced

by the legacy of the yearning heart,

an heirloom of fluttering memories

each one 

a  musical sonnerie

with a solid gold dial

that plays  

Carillon

From Bizet’s L’Arlesienne

whose three-note figure

conveyed the peal of

funeral bells

That was inscribed with the words

“Our hands will always meet

At midnight.”










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