In a Bonfire

Do you expect me
To believe
That I will think of the breeze
When I’m bursting with seared ash?
Do you expect me
To lose myself
Into the galaxy
While I’m seething ablaze?
How can I
Achieve the desire
To clutch handfuls of ice,
When my throat, my nose,
Are busy steaming?
How is it possible
For me
To stem the scorching air
From leaking,
When the glaciers, themselves,
Are welting?
Here I am 
Clenching my stumped teeth,
Compressing like there’s not 
Another morning
To flow by --
Only to be blinded, 
By what I assume is the sun --
Here I am, once again,
Expecting that a speck of ash
Will melt like snow in a bonfire.


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