The Bell-Toller

The final leaf falls on the eve of his birthday, And a dying man coughs in the wake of his prayers. Remind him, rumour of the sun, this cloudy day: His breath's a boon on the banister, up the stairs, And his falling lungs a temple of holy airs At the thorny altar he climbs along the way. In the chapel of hushed hymns and grave mysteries Let him not kneel to weep before his gasping words, Nor die forsaken in a desert of parched seas, But have him toll love in the belfry with the birds. Greeted by it, may Gabriel touch and heal his hurt And his ecstatic heart spurt its epiphanies.