The Fire Has Consumed All: A Poem of Cinders, Ruins, and Memory
The fire has consumed all.
What or who is left
in this wreck,
beyond the cinders
of uprooted trees
and charred, abandoned storefronts?
She and I—
phantasms of muted spells—
Walk aimlessly
with lidless eyes,
gazing intently
at an injected horizon.
Faint echoes
of Crumb’s Black Angels
drifting from a boombox
left among the ruins
where we once
foolishly dreamed
of love and splendor.
What– or who– is left?
