As I walk
the expanse of land
the spots that have burned
the spots that lay
greener even than before
spotted light
dappling a rock's cheeks
and mine
cold
pink apples.
I see the sun's the same as before
it has not burned
for it has always been burning,
and it is still warm
and smiling
a familiar face
and my cold Winter hands
upturned pale palms
to a warmth
I am not afraid of.
To be afraid of flames
is to be afraid of sparks
and the sparking inside of me
is coming back
so as to not diminish
the other hot hell
pink
hot red
my cheeks
and the rain.
As I walk
the expanse of land
find trees
that felt pain deep in their bones
and their deep wooden stomachs
I collect myself
for the sun still shines
and if the sun still shines
it shines on me.