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This Burns

March 9, 2010

This, This burns.

Ashes falling, embers licking

searching for fuel

This burns

and then it does not burn.

That, that is the difference.

Staring at city lights

little faraway people in windows

breathing

This punctuates cold, sterile air.

And they pass, some

Some ask for directions

others will go silently into the night

lovers holding hands

travelers with calloused feet

workers on the way back from

building tall towers

And This burns

for where those legs take them

And at This, I laugh

just a little bit

because it is so familiar

They tell me

This, too, shall pass

and I’m starting to wonder

if that’s true.

And This burns

bends, twists through air

Lightheaded

And when This burns out

it doesn’t really burn out

and when I climb the stairwell

and turn out the light

This still burns.

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