once we were a house on fire on salt spring island

once we were a house on fire on salt spring island

on an indigo sky snow lit night, i stared across the street at a house on fire
it crackled on as i hissed razors through the smoky plumed horizon hoping
the screams fingered someone from my past, drowning my present

a small girl tried to hold my hand for comfort but i smacked her across
our draping arbutus and cedar universe, demanded she get a grip in this
abrupt dissolve of my incendiary confession, chilled by a sea breeze hush

watching a fire isn't a team sport, even though we cluster like the Pleiades
most of us mourn, enough tears to fill a well, for the fried family dog
while some of us pet our front tee pocket, the one with the matches

you can observe a lot by watching a crowd, throat deep in its own haze
cracking whispers with each sinking step in a fresh snow bed
grief and relief necking in the dark until the fire trucks finally leave