hourwork

the bell still rings on the hour // no one rings it now -- the hour rings it, the way a habit rings through a body long after the body forgets why

we built the squares so the voices would carry -- and they carried -- and they carry still, even when no one is speaking, even when no one is left to hear

what is held in common was never named -- the well // the path worn soft by the going / and the coming / and the going again // the quiet agreement to leave the door unlocked

somewhere a ledger opened // somewhere a name was written into a column that did not exist the day before --

and the wheat, not knowing, kept being wheat // and the morning, not knowing, arrived on time

we are still here // in some sense -- older/fewer/quieter, keeping the shape of a thing whose name we have stopped using

because the name was never the thing -- the thing was the leaning toward each other in low light // the willingness to be counted -- and to count in the old arithmetic where everyone remained

the bell will ring again at the hour // the hour will ring it // and someone, eventually, will hear it and reach, without thinking, for the rope