Before the fire
I could look out our window
to a warp and woof of city streets
rewarding curiosity
with graffiti, green grocers
and grande macchiato
in a bamboo cup.
We were whole.
The fire came
from a single precise cinder
that cannot be unsaid.
Now our city is gone.
What remains is tatters.
Shivering in the cold,
we find more holes between us
than what is left to bind us.