just a spark. a tiny star,
winking in dropped glass
beside sticky tarmac, or else
an ember squeezed from a cigarette,
a sharp red dream in a firebug’s heart.
what madness, pain, will it impart?

2.

roaring gold, the maw devours
homes, lives, plants
as easily
as terror, longing, grief
steal hours.
a cancerous lung, the smoke consumes;
pauses, gathers strength
& then resumes.

3.

the wind is wild as a witch’s curse,
stinging with scarlet thorns
its Phaeton-mares, frenzied,
pulling a charcoal hearse.
sun’s chariot falls like a hammer-blow,
a wall of burning grief,
a searing loss, & while the anguish lasts
it will not cease.

4.

they hide in the earth,
seek sanctuary
that Dresden’s force denies.
above, dams boil & hearts explode
& weep as dogs lie bravely down,
a sea of guardians who will not rise.
they could have strayed,
but faithfully did not:
their masters stayed.

5.

trees shatter into swollen skies,
bursting like ripened fruit
in the fire’s hard hand. we knew the risks;
we understood
the perils of our lovely, sunswept land.
they were not this: to stay or go, but burn
without a choice. birds died aloft:
small angels, lacking voice.

6.

now only ash remains, & twisted shells.
where once sang lyrebirds,
we sift the wrecks, the dark, unlovely hells
of loss. such wounds run deep,
& still the fires burn.
we dare not sleep.