You laugh
in the rain, feeling guilty
for laughing in
a graveyard. Tiny

white flakes are
falling, swirling, sticking
to your clothes. You

have not seen snow in
years, you won’t see snow
even now, you realize as
you watch and these
colorless specks

don’t melt. You
are not seeing snow, what
you smell is not
by chance. You squint, seeing
the ash settle

on the graveyard: the rows
of crooked markers, green
and overlapping
with age, like a giant’s
rotted teeth; your friends;
and their solemn faces. Maybe

this time it is wood
that they are burning, but you
cannot forget when
human beings were considered no better
than fuel.