The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Peel of Bells

Warm in the embrace of a cedar rocker
the clock spits methodically across the rug
the dog crackling just outside ember reach
newspaper and bricks amidst the freshly hewn 
pine sparkle of memories that etch my
cloud chamber dreaming of solemn histories
or at least gusts of intimate mythologies
carved in my heart runes on old river rock
until reluctantly my attention swings round
an untethered mast caught in the peal
of a distant church bell echoing across
the snowy fleece through my loose hanging panes
so glows a lantern heart fluttering against the gale
in this momentary lull of my whisper-strewn-hills,
I wait for the cadence but the long hum hangs
mirrored by my lumbering mind lost in the 
subharmonic layers I peel like a juicy orange
to enjoy the spikenard of cloves and 
chocolate-coated cherry cordial that oozes 
from the bite of a stillness caught 
in a winter morning exhale.
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