Poems by e.c. belli

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WINDING DOWN 

It smells like snow—
how visible
 
the petulant
 
flow         raining down
its soft dissent 

I see us everywhere—the majestic 

shadows,
the petty rivalry of                 churches
 
piercing through like
                                   flint—
 
or is it in                     the gentle concussions
of voices
 
bouncing off the eaves
 
at a little past                             midnight
 
something foaming at the mouth
like wild
 
dogs         in such strange and sad raptures
 
 
Only a milk-thin pastoral
will ever remember
 
this

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ONE DOG WILL FIND US BOTH  [1]

And my first question
will be, Do you remember
when we were both made
 
of bone—
I already can’t bear
 
your reply: What
does it matter?
 
(There’s barely a day I don’t fear
the rain)
 
It matters because I’d like to know
whether I should expect
to make yet another
thing run off (a polished
finish will do that)
 
For instance: my fingers
slid off the ivory keys
 
once and for all, and then my
heart slipped out
of my core
but remember: wisdom
stayed—
 
Wisdom, I always did like it
rough

--
[1] from Nightwood by Djuna Barnes