Knell

In the yellow
towers,
the bells are tolling.

The notes are loosed
on the yellow
winds.

Along the road
the dead woman goes, crowned
with withered lemon blossoms.

She sings and sings
a song
to her white guitar,
and sings and sings and sings.

In the yellow towers,
the bells have stopped.

The wind forms prows of silver
with the dust.