The War
when rome burns
the crumbling pillars
laughing full of the fire-dance,
she isn’t watching the flames
she’s watching the notes pour out of him,
the hairs flying from the tip of his bow,
the folds of his face pushed together
full of the light of eyes-closed.
and over the roar of the fire
she hears only the rise fall rise
of his bow, of his vibrato, of his chest,
of the simple empire of himself,
the rise fall rise fall rise
and he opens his eyes
and they were never calmer.
then she laughs full her bare feet fire-dancing away
the heat on her skin bounced back into her footsteps
she laughs because she knows
that nothing is less hopeless
than ashes
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