The Ribbons of the Bell
Slipped her stockings straight
And fluttered to the choir below
And tied herself to the countertenor
Leftmost in the frontmost row.
I saw her path before she even fell
And that is why I stood beneath the bell
And from the bottom up,
Its details stark and doubted
Ignite an uproar in stained-glass
And sound the trumpets of vanity
With knowledge of a monument erased
I'm the woodpecker on the chimney
Digging at the wrong stone
But blithely shaking off an ordinary brown
Those faded feathers somersaulting low across the road
