The Fire (I)
I remember you making me drink your herbs and your roots
I became disoriented, and in the haze I predicted
Your tea cups and bones, so covered in soot
I sobbed, thinking I’d completely killed you on accident
But you gently assured me that prophecies weren’t always true
And I ceased to be quite so dejected
You drugged me more thoroughly, and I fell asleep at your foot
The next morning I found myself so sweetly evicted

I’d forgotten all about our words and bones, all covered in soot.
But time passed, and now you lie dead.
I stole some of your things because consecration seemed moot
Including those journals in which you feared being rejected
And I hear a voice in my head, a recording of you
I never knew that these years I was protected
From your love, because you heard of bones so covered ins soot
And you thought wrong if you thought I wouldn’t be affected.

I fall at your headstone, my regret too strong to refute
You lived life alone, not unlike an ascetic
And in ruins your home lies, all covered in soot
The irony bittersweet and completely wretched.