The Dust Beneath the Fire
The dust beneath the fire
remembers the forest
as I recall
my youth so twisted
dark and capricious
before love burnt
through the shadows
before my soul sickened
and was consumed
searing withered
I screamed for the sea
to swell and soothe my pain,
but the tide refused
to rise in flood
against the flame,
for it had not forgotten
the misery I cast
into its depths,
or the malice whispered
of delicate isolation
in its presence
and so compelled to endure
my fever
I writhed
as a beast, indecent
until with fervor reduced
to cool ash
I lay at rest
and new life began
to rise through the scorched earth
to feel the breeze
and in its folly
crave the warmth of intimacy
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