—IT’S LIKE I’M HOLDING ONTO A KNIFE FOR DEAR LIFE

Ash in Three Pieces

Ash Lust

I covet the ashes,

smear them across

my lips and eyes,

desperate to be that light,

that charred

and dead.

Ash Conundrum

I dream you in ashes

floating in a film of filthy water,

forbidden but not exactly poisonous,

a paradox or Pandora’s box, you pick.

How can water mean life

and cinders death?

I don’t expect you to know the answer.

I’m just asking for a friend.

Ash Air

Fire’s after-breath

huddles between the trees,

a kind of scorched fog

or insulation,

light padding that’s just

thick enough

to separate motives,

to keep one thing

from touching the other.