Anyone who has ever kept a secret
Knows that letters cannot be burned in a bundle
Even after the fire eats through the string
Or ribbon
Or rubber band
That binds them
The letters huddle together like children
So those at the core of the clutch
Remain untouched
As flames live and die around the margins
The worlds of our words
Especially those incompatible
With this one
Do not give themselves willingly
To such an end
The person who tends to the flames
Must poke and prod
Shuffle and sift
In order to expose the soft white underbelly
Of another’s reality
Memories rising only to fall
To ash
In a burst of light
We are born this way
And we die this way
The heaviness of our hearts
Carried weightless upon the wind
