The unspeakable moved through me like a pageant.

I watched it run its course;
I was in control and still
I marveled, a child clamoring
for the rainbow flowers
until up close she sees the shredded tissues,
all those reds and pinks
bleeding in the heat. 

                                        (Stop, rewind:

It was not hot 
here, in September, late evening,
first lightning of the season. 
And I didn’t so much watch
as follow directions:  This is where
the roof caves in, laddering to ash;
this is where your desk flies
from the second story window
in flames . . .)

                            I never knew
a house could be so lovely
exploding.  A closet, a bedroom,
such tidy novas; but the entire
upstairs hallway spared
because fire craves air and will
leap leagues to find it. 
I stood there as long as I could, 
I accepted everything  –  
the firemen’s shouts,
the worn bathrobe,
my neighbor’s glistening cheek
and despair holding me up like a torch,
even the weird refreshment
of the breeze the rain swept in on,
finally:  first drops
of the promised storm.