zafusy

Shrouding the morning in fine night,
The stomach of smoke rises yet above the block
With no remaining feasts of flame.

I survey the ruins as though they are my own,
For all the names collected and written except one
Have been gently claimed.

Before me, shallow on the bed of ash
A man of bones lies down open-mouthed,
Demanding respect while the hour’s fresh.

Still, with flesh and fossil aligned,
Tell me silent friend, when does one
Begin the hunt for coal resting in rubble?

Aaron Koppel

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