Burn Patterns

Am I mad when I see the birds
on fire, the bridge in flames,
burn patterns on the bodies?

See how gray and blue the shadows
moving towards the river's water.
Am I too human to endure the dying

floating in its swirling violence?

Are we condemned to travel towards
the flickering light-ness letting go
of memories of life disguised by

sweet, cold darkness?

Here are my blistered shoulders
sprouting into white and shining
wings thrashing towards the sun.

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