the burn, Poem

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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