There at noon
in the still of the clock
as the bells ring out an iron tune
from the air
holding it's breath
at noon
with hands together
the hour goes on forever
in furnaces of sun
through silent streets
along which
no feet run
and no songs are sung
at noon
where the keystone of the arch
hangs heavy with the past
in the shadow of the church
through the light of old stained glass
the midday minutes pass
as slowly as a hearse
at noon
