Novice - Éireann Lorsung

All absence creates is longing. Therefore between bells
I linger. I taste
what keeps with wind through
stones. Here are a hundred sisters who cannot
be enough: routine
is tonic, perfect
shift from sound to silence to sound but the fruit
of the tree is knowing
outside the clouds are moving,
the water is moving, hands
are moving across bodies
never mine. I can smell
those hands.