Bells

Silent in the belfry of their making,
Heavy copper resigned to the elements
That may cause them to sound out,
Out of order, out of tune with time.
Carved dates and customs passing quickly,
Passing glory of the ground far below,
Chimes for the days set apart
For fasting, penitence, focus upon sin,
Broken by the policeman saying, “You want to go up?”

One with the picture of a crucifix:
Even here, Christ still suffers,
Exalted by the artist’s presumptive grace.