I would never have invited it into my heart,
but it came, a wildfire, burning down
every single thing I thought I knew
about love. There were no wings
that appeared in the ash. Not all
fallen things learn to fly. But
the aftermath was the first time
I was still enough for long enough
to hear a peace that thrums
through everything. I do not pretend
to know how it works, but neither
can I pretend to not know it is here.
Even in the char. And, I suspect,
even in the flame.