the burn, Poem
the burn
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