gusts

Reggae drifts over from a festival
in gusts like westerly wind that prevails
today. Someone rings changes on church bells
closer to home, and the patterns of their
interference are as compelling as either
music: two anonymous pebbles
dropped in one ocean where local
disturbances cross, all stray. What prayer
do they call us to? What direction do they
sanctify? What silence, what intensity,
what rhythm in their crossing?
                    Sound moves walls,
moves floors, moves feet, but under pressure
of afternoon sun, you wonder out loud
if light also blows in gusts on west wind.