it's 38 degrees fahrenheit on the first day of
october; autumn here lasts about twenty seconds,
give or take nineteen. and, as we talk,
we think of places that we've marked down on this map-
and then, one by one, burn them for warmth.

it starts slow, just a few black spots upon the page,
barely noticed. a stray pen mark, a misprint.
instantly, we forget these places were there,
so it never occurs to us that they're gone.

but something here is missing,
in this autumn moment; a warmth
of the inside that slowly burns
its way through, leaving the
interior ravaged and wrecked

but

survival
love
loss
memory
destruction
resurrection:


after the fires, the remains
stand, skeletons charred black,
against an orange horizon line,
fogged from the smoke.

at least, from here we have the wreckage
to sift through, but also the contrast
of twenty seconds passage into the
char-black/snow-white winter day-

where we've nothing left
to burn for warmth.

10/02/2004

Posted on 10/02/2004
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams