The fire that burns and burns and burns
Children catch ash
on their tongues,
dreaming of snowflakes
while mothers hold it all together
with routine,
hoping it won’t always be
like this.
A man screams at the ghosts
who follow him
into the daylight,
the bitterness of their breath
seeping into his skin.
He covers his eyes,
not letting them in:
he doesn’t want to know
how the world ends.
Lovers make disaster
seem beautiful as they lick
each other’s wounds
blissfully,
writing poetry
on windscreens
that are primed
with fallen trees.