"Cursed"
"I gather all that you said about the holding is over.
I gather all that you said about forever, and push it
to the edge near the fire.
Words are as good as a hubcap.
I say over the roar of the flames,
and the hubcap spins in a blur, because all that you
said about the holding is over.
Words are as good as a horse, I say in a whisper.
I give the horse a nudge, and it thunders.
Pushed to the edge near the fire,
the smoke billowing, as you guess, even higher,
up with the wrens where the air is thinner, in the ash of what
you said, now that it's over.
And I grow lighter, rising in the smoke, where
I swim like a minnow, a glimmer at the atmosphere's edge.
So far from the fire, liquid turns to ice.
From here, it seems obvious that this is better.
Gathering myself in the cold, the holding over,
and pushed to the edge and into the fire."