Flamma
2010 May 8
A fire starts
from the things we love, care not
to hold out a hand
it talks back
with a scar
The remains charred
we make out the outlines
of what once was
amidst black chips
brittle to the touch
care not to reduce
them to trivial ash
What gets lost in the fire
hides from view
by turning it to pieces
so small
and elusive to the eye
When a love dies
it is compacted in an urn
with bereaved hearts
a display revisited
for mourning
what once was
