bell kept hours - a poem

vespers is calling through the bells of my city,
we teeming through streets on our ways to eat,

while the holiness of sundown, apparent at horizon,
drifts through the lungs of singing monks and nuns,

we happily continue in ignorance, creating their fodder
blind to the sacredness emanating from those ringings,

dumb to their numbing distance, one must listen to hear,
like that music from spheres, before cathedrals were standing