Dead Wood

Fasten the door...
archive each
hiding place;

architecture
of my secret walls.

No names
or faces rise
from within.

I re-visit
the city
or cities
where compassion

was lost,

my silver locket,
my red jacket,
my white mare-

the ability
to make fire.

[my voice, my eyes]

On a warm night,
the pungent smoke
of memory burning-

dead wood.