the burn, Poem

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the mountains dance
even with the memory of fire
just one canyon over
fresh green clumps
feathery grasses

what is the new thing blowing in
and through?

a second skin emerges
tenderly when I give in
to the brush of pine needles
I find myself in a strange place
without gravity
ruins in my heart
limbs needles lichen
bark and bone
alligator juniper spirals
opens to reveal grain core