the fire is flic-
ker-
ring i wonder how it will be to breathe
smokeless air and
hate myself for doing so

where will this rain go?
it has ruined my dry-timber bones
i am smoldering embers
shivering.

then- clouds clear &
clear laughter.
how blind was i not to see
the magic is not in the flower
who shines the brightest
because she loved the sun
it is in the flower
who blooms
because she believed in the moon