Bells

[expiring_touch]

This part of Hamburg looks and feels Siberian
retracing chubby childish fingers
along the footnote creased in exile.
Its air has intake and a bit of spring
that sends the leafy shadows quivering
against the patchy asphalt.
Its scent of apple trees in bloom
is hanging like a green halo and caught
between my highs-strung ankles –
For I am overturned this spring,
watching the dusk descend
down my hair – its very ends
I tied to ancient bells in bronze,
announcing summer’s
coming.