be my bell

her hair is hair.
and i could put the moon
inside the bell and let it
strike bronze, let quiver
air

 

like long exhale,
as the clowns from Subiaco
fight like red balloons
against the silver string
and child's hand.

 

and i could whisper to her
of shampoo and conditioners,
and of secret longings
and bathtub bubbles

 

but she is cast in bronze
and i, am cast in air.