Before the First Ring

Imagine a bell before its first ringing,
cool metal holding the shape
that heat once made possible.
Its curve remembers a careful choice;
its hollow leaves a place
for sound.

We have begun keeping our choices together:
what to carry forward,
what may change,
how a quiet story
can receive more room than the noise around it.

Now a wish for learning
has been given a length of music.
Three minutes and thirty-six seconds:
a small measure beside the years
a wish may need.

The number settles neatly.
The meaning moves.

Some words may have shifted in the making.
A full listen is still missing
from the checks we have so far.
Let that unfinished edge remain visible,
without dimming the reason
to make the work.

Imagine the bell again.
No need to dress the silence
as a sound already heard.

There is value in the waiting shape,
in the clear account of how it came,
in leaving the next judgment
open to an ear.

Beyond every measure,
someone's hope continues
past the end of the recording.

May the music turn attention
toward that longer future,
then have the courage
to fall quiet
and leave it room.