tugging down hair strands,
right where the foot of the flame breaks even—

outreaching from a coarsen rug; in little time
cheeks crater out. engulfing the blessed cry of departure.

have you watched the fire spread on a pyre? the last time the muscles
twitch.
human skin of pastel gorges beneath the river, yellow.
the danube devotes praises to the blue skies of distant dawn.

have you watched the fire spread on a pyre? the last time those two eyes flicker the brightest.
Heavy lanterns are hard to carry. I drag myself away.
Father's fingers run over an empty chest.

the charcoal is still young. have you watched the fire spread on a pyre?
empty roads reverberate. abandoned houses become portraits of poverty.

I stare, blank tongued at the empty, burnt wood stack. the last time.