The sky is blue and the sun is out
and I wish the house was still on fire,
orange tongues reaching up to the diaphanous air.
The whole block reeks with the scent
of our destroyed lives, charred plastics
and paint and hair. How many days
did I spend watching the sparrows on the chimney?
How many nights did I call the moon in
through the cheap blinds? We snaked
the kitchen sink together, rising haphazardly
like someone’s first loaves. Charred heels
can’t run far, so I stay, and wish
that the fire stayed with me.