Forest Fire

He walks toward her
from out of the fire
head wreathed in flames
crackling, layered like laurels.

Her eyes are cautious limegreen
tracking his every step
hair coiled, tangled like ivy
rooted to the earth.

He reaches out, sparks floating
free from his open hand
his bracelets glow of molten gold
cracking ringing as they move.

She sheds a tear, clean rainwater
as he nears her drying skin
She cannot move, never has
doesn’t want to leave his light.

They stand as fire spreads
burning trees and ferns and moss.
He wants to say he’s sorry.
She doesn’t need apologies.

“Even though it hurts,” she says
“this is growing, too.
Life is born from ashes
stronger, taller, greener than before.”

He nods, satisfied
the fire dwindling down
he turns away and leaves her
his flames have had their fill.

She casts her gaze back down
tending to her seeds
hidden from him
beneath scorched earth.

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