Bats in My Belfry

I've got bats in my belfry 
and they sometimes try to take a turn to ring the bells-
those iron domes of hollow sound that echo southward
and speak for me.

The bats rustle and stir softly
In the darkened garret where they lie in wait
for night to fall
like oil heating over an open flame-
or else like a trash fire that's only just beginning-
they bubble and froth
and reach for the cord. that will ring the great, black bells

 A beam of sunlight stretches through the shuttered window
searing hole in their midst and driving them into the shadows
the light of dawn arrives, quiet in yellows and pinks
but growing bolder into blues and whites 
the bats fall still.
I open my mouth
and the bells begin to chime