Venetian Bells

Incessant, ambiguous.
A white chime
high as the sun
but low like a motor rumble.

Pavement fraught with noon blaze.
A man kneels, arms outstretched.
Hands cupped. Palms cracked and soiled.
A white glare leaps off

the jumble of coins. The clatter
returns – ten, twelve, nineteen times – and fades.
High as the gathering clouds,
low like the chink and chatter of change.