By iron light he fell
Cast from his fingers
Bok choy, new green onions
And a package of small red shoes
His throat slit
In April in the city
On a footpath
Behind the Temple of Bells
inside the bells
Each one on a stage
In the dim electric shade
Is standing still
The tons of bronze unrung
The silence heavier than the sounds
Now seven centuries gone
of the monstrous bells
And so at sundown
In the dusty court
A weighted silence falls
Over one death more
among the antique bells
And though the hammers fall
The tones unsounded
Sink upon the hour
The characters obscure
The silence hollow