Burn This House

Burn This House

82 Burn This House Tell the rescuers they are not wanted. Raise a hand to stop the water-bearers. Let thin curtains snap glass panes in sudden lashes of bright, and weave smoke trails through space between your eyes. Pull exhaled air back through the lips. Hold each ember by your teeth in shelter. Allow each column of timber to stray from notions of form and size, catching flakes of fire on your tongue. Move now: circling, strange. Pound feet askew in the wreck that roasts below. Wave thin arms about your head— bend wrists, push hands to lift the flames to ripeness. Trace with bones your semblance in the ash, and let darkness surround, sloughing off the body’s burden. This page intentionally left blank. This page intentionally left blank. This page intentionally left blank. This page intentionally left blank. This page intentionally left blank. ...