slow burn

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There is the slow burn of the years
made up of days,
building with wood, a frame
of our lives

burning in each other
burning up each other.

There is the slow burn of the years
made up of hours
filling journals and coffee mugs
avoiding the box
that could burn

our eyes,
our hearts.

There is the slow burn of
simmering down
after years of simmering up.

There is the burst of fumes
and green, from paint
the broken wood
canvas
photos, letters
handmade books
bells and beads
silver leaves
floating berries
floating heads
kittens, hedgehogs
cards and dreams,
glasses cracked:

these things burn
like books,
like wires,
strings of orange,
bubbles of blue.

We made what we burn.

Paper birds with
no regrets
or maybe one
regret we can
control,
dust the flames,
perch then fall.

More dancing, we say.
Till tomorrow, we say.

There is the slow burn of embers
as we watch this fire from years
of fires.

One sharp cinder
floats by our heads
up toward the sky.

Meteors fall,
the air is still.

We catch our breath,
the red burns gray.

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1 thought on “slow burn

  1. Pingback: this is october | mapping the terrain

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