I love you,
but we are a broken hammer:
all shims and splints, and full of good intentions.

I set fires. I set fires. I fill the sky with light. I set fires.

We talk in the heat
like a dry summer creek,
filled with last winter's leaves.
A silence of nettles,
old growth, and underbrush.
And the pitch pine bark
hides a turpentine heart.
I knew this day would come.

Eye to eye in the heat,
mouth in haste, roots embrace.
Does sapling or wasteland this caress of kindling make?
We dreamt of rain for this place,
for new growth to heal our mistakes.
I love you still, but we both know the rains have left us.

Sunbleached limbs and hollow hearts,
our lives our heavy with fuel.
Skin on skin feels like flint, like lightning, like wind.
I love you, but we are a forest in waiting.

I set fires. I set fires. I fill the sky with light. I set fires.

I set fires. I set fires.
Broken branches piled high,
I burn the Winter from our lives,
without flames the forest dies. I set fires.

I set fires. I set fires. I fill the sky with light. I set fires.

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