Bodies

Floating, surfacing cold bodies Traveling steadily down the rapids. Some of men, some of women, So many of helpless children. Closed hands hold tightly onto dolls, To skirts of their mothers, to anything. The young men of the village turned over, Their pretty wives wading the water, To find their dead bodies. Flames, cascading through the village. Swallowing whole houses in the red tint of heat Each abandoned by their occupants. The playground burning for its lost children The old tire swing melting from the swelter. As the fire dies down, the dazed meander back The ones that survive cling to their crisped possessions. Follow the bodies down the river, they will show you the way. Each telling a story, from the village where they strayed. Torched by time, sweeping out the devils. From every misfortune comes prosperity, From the worst disaster to the greatest cleanse. Each that lives will have great longevity, Each that passed will forever be angels Until their souls wish to be captured again Into beloved bodies.