Torched

We’ve been burned before:
Left in the hot seat
smoldering and angry.
 
Wondering how we got here
and if we’re ever going home.

We marvel at downpours
their ability to not only quench desire
but to drown out the burning
as though it never happened.

Why can’t they remember
what we can’t forget?

So I watch the torch pass
from one hand to the next
the motorcade following
one alighting, then more

Because to drop it now
would be a sin:
So we hold it up
like a beacon.

Let it light the way
for the path – the subsequent
stumble, charring and burning…
Well done!

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