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Paint my soul (dripping) red

the air swam a little different

in the days following the fire

as though held in a state of

impassioned disbelief

an imposed shock

or awe

in breath not quite lost but

caught – by oils, and the scene of now blackened embers, charred brick

beams of the roof reduced to gentle crumbling piles, flakes

and narrow pits, their

boisterous confidence

quieted with that of the

surrounding wilderness.

The flat shape of fields all

but silent and the dim lines

of houses with eyes turned firmly inward.

we were laying on a road –

we were laying on a road –

as the flames licked the sky

you took my face against the skin of your chest and pressed it there, still

while I shook and shook

into the universe


Spreading Fire