Fire takes

Fire takes everything except memories.

Things take flight and spiral into the air

Leaving their clothes folded in neat piles of scorched love.

We talk of the loss

And each act of conversation

Makes the loss real again. Fleetingly.

What was meaningful in my hand now has more meaning in my heart.

And in my words.

I cannot see what it is that I refer to without the filter of memory.

I cannot hear what I have heard without my own resonances.

But my words are shadows to my thoughts,

Puffs of air that chase the wisps 

Of dreams in ash and scorched earth.

We fly together you and I, or choose to stay 

Here

And fight.

It is too soon to say which

Is

Right.