Inferno, Canto Five

The page falls open, by habit
to that place where Dido,
in flocked robes
drifts
across thumb stained pages,
bereft whatever oily stain was left
on Cathage’s salt sea cliffs

you remember better than I
us, laughing
you called across the old dining hall
and we danced

(you told me this)

vaulted ceilings, empty chairs
whirling wind outside
set the windows rattling

Hell is a hurricane
perpetual motion
the door is open; the wind blows through

we willed the snow might last, I remember that
the outside swirling white
against the windowpane
and my hand curled on the pillow
a small bird

this is the worst lie I have ever told:
I love you, forever.

Cries ring out
empty, cast down on rocks
wind
mocking fire’s memory
as Dido watches
idly

e caddi come corpo morto cade

love, a swoon
in ruins.