And now these chimes

•

And now these chimes
have that stench the dead—all night
the rain falls for them, calling out

till even the sky wants to fly
followed by armies.
What's left is some mountain

a stream falling backward
and the sky again a star, its light
too slow—what you see

already passed—soldiers
need this mud, a climbing starts
and whoever looks up now

hears these slow chimes
lifting the Earth loose
from its first death
and the stillness.