wintersong

you were meant to light just one piece your piece of flying wish paper

but fire is meant to spread

and soon not one but two wishes our wishes are ashing up the air

with evidence that’s not preponderant

that’s why you were meant to judge the arc your arc

to lift the chest your chest to twist the ribs your ribs

and say something new about the breath your breath

every day: even: effortful: jagged: hot —

with all the war our war the hungry ghosts our ghosts

we were meant to burn down our most reliant wishing well

for no matter what months the ancestors chose for this hemisphere

you were meant to be cold in winter

to bathe yourself beyond

in an offering of flame