The street-side artist drew your body with
charcoal and claimed the best form of life came
after the forest fire, over a more
fertile land, when the ash-cloud will come to
unsettle your vision from what is laid out
before you. He shaded your ******* in with
his thumb over the blackened lines of hope
that you would come to envisage yourself
in the way each passer-by came to do.
Once you paid up and walked the promenade,
you came to the lighthouse in the distance
as a ship turned to change its course for you.