The Dust Beneath the Fire

The dust beneath the fire remembers the forest as I recall my youth so twisted dark and capricious before love burnt through the shadows before my soul sickened and was consumed searing withered I screamed for the sea to swell and soothe my pain, but the tide refused to rise in flood against the flame, for it had not forgotten the misery I cast into its depths, or the malice whispered of delicate isolation in its presence and so compelled to endure my fever I writhed as a beast, indecent until with fervor reduced to cool ash I lay at rest and new life began to rise through the scorched earth to feel the breeze and in its folly crave the warmth of intimacy