Bells

It’s not just the birds I know
singing from places I recognise, 
landmarks I chart and check by sound—
chaffinch in the hedges, 
blackbird in the plum tree at the neighbour’s gate, 
plovers in the low lying land just south.

It’s not just these birds I hear 
but other birds now, from far off places, 
calling as from foreign lands—
a cluster of trees mid-valley, 
the top of a lone tall pine at the foot of the hill,
ducks crying somewhere over waters I cannot see.

All the birds I know,
sound coming from all the old places,
and more.
Each bird a bell,
pealing off in fine circles,
overlapping to make the whole valley chime.