The carillon plays from a church
Two blocks away,
And it takes me back fifty years.
“are ye able, said the master”
My dad sang the bass line
Of every hymn
Like it was being recorded.
And it was,
On my brain, anyway.
Deep notes … almost
A counter-melody.
So certain. So comforting.
If I went back to church,
I wouldn’t try to fathom the lyrics.
Only the lowest notes.
Not really a believer,
Just a sturdy dreamer.