Gifts or Bells

Keep the bells on constant song
Bashing air and caressing my ears
Nine a.m. escapes
workdays sank into loose change
Found in the corners, between my toes

I dreamt of my father
and today I remember
a flickering projector
we were all watching
He was a papa bear
Young...and I was all of fifteen inches
He was giving me
Giving me the good in him
I could see him touch his forehead to my soft infant skull
sending across tissue and skin
-and every other thing
unknown, untouched-
sending strength and hope and love
I watched this on the
screen in my dream
Now I'm crying and thankful

My hands are sacrifices
My hands are gifts given to give
My hands are gifts given from
him to give

Keep the bells sounding
triggers to the night's eyes escapades
I will now always find my father
when the metal crashing of bells
pump through the concrete passways