One ring in the distance,
Was it an accident in the tower?

Another following it,
Surely this is no folly.

A third dull clang in the air,
Is it something in my ears?

Four times the bell has rung,
Should I suspect an alarm.

Fifth ring and I worry
Some fire or disaster is spreading.

A sixth clang in the distance,
Is there a plan to stop?

Seven now, I wonder
What the bride’s dress looks like.

Eight and I think of the procession,
What streets it must block.

A ninth ring and loud,
The final one from the tower?

No, soon comes the tenth
And I look for a catafalque.

Eleven rings and clangs
All overlapping, when will it stop?

The twelfth shaking of the bell
And soon it hangs silent.

Twelve rings, do they mark the time?
So much sound must mean something.

I look out the window and see an orb,
And plenty of light for shadows.

But the circle on high burning or glowing?
I cannot tell if this is midnight or noon.

BEN NARDOLILLI is a twenty three year old writer currently living in New York City. His work has appeared in Houston Literary Review, Perigee Magazine, Canopic Jar, and Lachryma: Modern Songs of Lament, Baker’s Dozen, Thieves Jargon, Farmhouse Magazine, Elimae, Poems Niederngasse, The Delmarva Review, Underground Voices Magazine, SoMa Literary Review, Heroin Love Songs, Shakespeare’s Monkey Revue, Literary Fever, and Perspectives Magazine. In addition he was the poetry editor for West 10th Magazine at NYU and maintains a blog at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.