Leftovers In Flame Flowers
Mother, crawl your eyes over
flames of specks left after a fire.
Creep your nostrils over
tentacled limbs of peeled-off earth
and dearth in a bush of debris.
Walk your stringed gazes at
the wild grass of leftovers,
after flames have gulped down
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: aftermath