777

By, Dara Laine

I swallowed the bell —
to keep the ringing within.
Now it calls through me.

I ask for a sign
without expecting answer.
Still, I wait, unsure.

The moon opened once —
not like a mouth, but a door.
No one walked through it.

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One shadow hovered.
Too still for a bird.
Too late to be you.

Now I speak softly
to the air that listens back.
Maybe that is faith.

The wind said maybe.
That was the clearest answer
I had heard in days.

I almost heard you
between the sound and the hush.
Then it was just hush.

“777” originally appeared online in Quibble Lit CHANNEL Volume V. © Dara Laine Murray, 2025. For reprints and permissions, please contact the author.

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash