Mystic Bell Buoy*

I listen deep within misty
northern woods to a mystic
bonging sound coming from the
sea compelling me to go and see,
and so I quickly run along
the mossy ground and brush
past moist and dripping ferns,
not too far from rolling surf
crashing white against the shore
and, at last, I see a bouncing buoy
sounding like a Buddhist gong.

                        By Richard F. Fleck

*This poem originally appeared in Driftwood East Quarterly