I couldn’t help but notice the concern on your face
As I loosed my hands to fall from grace
Into the flames
That lapped at your feet.
You warned me this was hell, those scabs and sores
From the fire,
But not your sore hands on the boiled rung
Nor your dry eyes or crowd you’re among
Nor the dense developments that seem so dire
I let go, anyway
And scattered my life like seeds
Straight into the vacuous winds
To grow elsewhere
And fall into everything
In the face of the fire regime.
The pain was real, you saw me writhing
Through the smoke;
What you didn’t hear was my laughter
And your name through my lips
As I called up from a field of molded rye
What the forests had to tell
And that we’ve been here on various trips.
Do you forget why you hang over the fire?
Dry your tongue from nonsense and spit?
Declare your freedom from pain and it?
It’s the safest you’ve ever been
To fear without guessing and calling it sin
From ashes a forest rises not asking for repentance
For life, we thank what death has lent us.