- In February
and before the light had left the afternoon
I saw through the window that it had fallen.
I went out in my shoes on the leaves and stones
where the ground and broken branches slope down,
and I peeered and squinted in the cold grey space
for the gleam of gold on the brown.
I found it against the wall, but crippled:
it had lost a delicate metal piece
so that, more than ever like me,
the wind could hardly make it sing.
The wind blew when I came back in,
but I was not tempted to hang the chime again,
so it lay crumpled on the table
until another time, safe for new string,
which slowly decays after days of rain.