bells in the mountains


i hold my breath

for bells in the mountains

each toll resonating within

reverberating in my halted lungs

carried across stiff birch limbs

nourished by intricate soils

echoed in blanketed moss

settling in the dense brambles

where fox den’s are hidden

bells in the mountains

announce themselves

like unceremonious thunder

startling a murder of crows

whose shadows dot the cliff’s

freckling the misaligned skies

a delirious melancholy

aching in my heart’s corridors

in the wake of

bells in the mountains

a. duncan, 2018



artwork: near to the edge, by robert farkas


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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

4 thoughts on “bells in the mountains

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