I swallowed the bell—

to keep the ringing within.

Now it calls through me.

I ask for a sign

without expecting answer.

Still, I wait, unsure.

The moon opened once—

not like a mouth, but a door.

No one walked through it.

One shadow hovered.

Too still for a bird.

Too late to be you.

Now I speak softly

to the air that listens back.

Maybe that is faith.

The wind said maybe.

That was the clearest answer

I had heard in days.

I almost heard you

between the sound and the hush.

Then it was just hush.