When fires frothed between the wakes
forgotten past the hill,
despite their blindnesses, I waved
to those who wished me ill.
It burns on forward, the ardor
that marred the forest floor,
where trees imbibed with chlorophyll
are ashen at their core.
The embers snapped underfoot,
when all the rest was Hell
I came to where a bridge should be
and that had burned as well.
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