Catherine Wheel
Kate.
Catherine Wheel.
Left only char-mark traces on
this dirty laundry line post;
unrequited love so brightly shone
scarred by a pyrotechnical ghost.
Spun.
Vibrant fire.
White hot with turquoise spangled eyes,
burnt, exploded, rattled death;
as tails of auburn fireflies
blew kisses of fleeting gossamer breath.
Flash.
Sudden dark.
Spectral afterburn, protoplasmic and cold
then nothing save a vacant space;
dreams and youth fell numb and old
in the vacuum of a lost embrace.
Kate.
Catherine Wheel.
Spent firework, beckons yet she warns
burnt offerings are the end of it;
a heart may ache and forever mourn,
some things should never be re-lit.
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