Great fires are the ones that disregard the amount
of ash while burning.
From this tree I can understand fire a bit better;
It seems natural when marking cave walls,
But its agreement with wind has always troubled me
Because wind seems sacrilegious and has become even more so:
A nest just fell from a limb:
Three young birds are dying on the sidewalk.
Chirp a while little hairless birds,
Look deep inside at your broken skull:
The ravine of light headed this way is in constant contact
With its prison, the memory of oceans at the end of every breeze