"The Burning."
"It would happen, I would name these moments as they came.
And there were some lies which clawed up
as the dead, a few weeks after the fire.
Lies which broke the hair of their fingers as they climbed,
yet saw the dead, and so knew them.
I talked further in the dark than anyone then.
The moments were dark and returned
against the dark skylight where there was a hole, the mind,
dead in its little image, little pit.
I followed them home and the moments caught fire.
And I caught fire and clawed out a small space for breathing
under the moment of the small floor, which was on fire.
The burning lied to me as it made
me feel safe and made me feel as if I, too,
had loved, although alone with the love given.
Was it a kind fire, was it nothing then as over the roads
in the mind broken?
I did not want it given to you.
I did not want to lie about the pain
my hand felt as I saw the dead given over to me in frankness.
I saw a white starkness after their death.
In the death was a person.
She was there so dead.
I saw a white starkness leave her mind and bones.
I saw the white moment of white words
break so silently into nothing.
I felt weak.
A cry came close.
A cry came close and I felt weak.
I saw the dead.
I saw the fire which makes the dead.
I saw the moment go nowhere.
In the dark, I could see the broken image of love
for the first time.
I saw the white tire go out."