The first spring I knew I loved you,
it didn’t matter at all that
you might not care to love me, too.
Bursting with passion and
pride, I was a gorgeous peacock,
rainbow fantail, butterfly heart
all aflutter with summer dreams.

Tonight I am a trembling fawn,
trapped inside a wide ring of fire
closing in fast. Flesh melts. Breathing
is impossible, but
I shiver as if caught naked
outside without my tawny coat
in the blast of bleak mid-winter,
frozen, exposed.

If I had a voice left, I would
raise it clear as a firehouse bell.
Instead, I burn, disintegrate
to ash. The clanging roar
of forested world collapsing,
of trees snapping clean in two, says
the world is coming to an end.

You’d think, having known me back then,
that I’d perk up and strut straight out
of this hellish firestorm, march
into the clear blue sky
because I’d set my mind to it,
just because I always come out
looking beautiful just because
it is my way.

But here I sit convulsing, no
tears left to cry, no more looking
for a home that never was real,
wobbly legs and a will
as weak as a big bird who’s lost
all its feathers, but squawks all day
without making a blessed sound.

Loss. Pus oozes out everywhere.
I’m nearly blinded by the flame
of loneliness. Honest to God,
I don’t feel anything
as I watch skin evaporate.
Love dances on a smoky wind:
two feathers, a rainbow helix
spiraling high.