Burn

Flames,
         spirited in their right, engulf the entirety
of what they had built, and she watches,
as
          though a wanderer from another
place,
   another time;
as if what ignites
                                             was never
hers.
                                                 She is
unharmed, and unafraid,
budding and removed,
   doll-like stoic.  The fire will finish,
   dominate the landscape - child's play-
unaware or uncaring of its wreckage.
                                     She is never
going back.
Guilt burns there, and her heart
    is free.
The whole thing, a tragicomedy,
the hissing witch cackle licking up
                           a life.
Blue blood red heat
                              lights
                                                bright.
The
grey
has yet to settle, but
                     later,
she will remember how it all went up.
      When everything
            else begins to fade, and
contrast once stark, liquefies,
      the memory of that generous
wild taking under,
will elevate
         and burn.