Wean From Flame 

I. 

I begin to creep.  My walk is

the only life around lately. 

I walk for a day.  I walk for

two.  I walk a never face-to-face

trail, and recall a time of golden

weapons and valleys filled

with fire. 

I have blisters bit and standing on

end like boils, bit nipples or

bit rubber bleeding to

tell me they

were once

flame. 

When the flames left,

I was blindsided, blindfolded,

all that was once flame turned to

blisters, captivation, and dead grass,

which is all that I lay in now. 
 
 

II. 

I wake in dead grass I

sigh with no burn

and bite through

my tongue

I 

see only shadows and deep trenches filled

with ash filling trenches

and craters from the flames

flames called ambrosia

by those with courage or

habituation and once the flames had co-

habituation and chaos and chaotic

habituation and now the flames have

left a charred world 

where for the first time

the villagers begin to build

houses markets silos holy sites

and all that wouldn’t stand in

flame now stands and 

in the new morning the sunrise reflects a

slow birth death and rebirth of

water people and dung

without flame 

and finally

there can exist

water people and dung

which the villagers are starting

to name and to sort and to love and to love 

and to finally love and to finally

build love and houses and organize

and make love nightly

in the ash.