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