To Pass the Morning

I wrote this one a while ago and just stumbled on it. I made a few changes and voila. What do you think?

To Pass the Morning

Outside, the school’s brass bell chimes the hour,

(hours)

commemorating a moment.

I count them, one by one,

to pass the morning

noon

afternoon.

Meanwhile, all water in all streams flows

onward and evanescent clouds

float slowly through

our milky sky.

I like to nod at them as they pass

by and pretend we share

a connection—

that they exist,

and I exist,

which is another of those mysteries,

like whether a tree makes

a sound as it falls

alone in a

forest.

I think it does.

The falling sounds like a bell—

a brass bell—to mark its passing.