The Shade I Carry

"Ash and cinder scattered across the night skies."

The flame consumed itself,

yet its shadow bound me.

I carry it still—

not as blaze,

but as shade woven through my marrow.

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The roots remember the fire’s song.

They hold its silence in their grip,

their veins scorched black with longing.

The branches above bend,

not to break,

but to keep the ash from drifting away.

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Even the river reflects the ember,

though it has drowned in its own song.

Its surface glows with a memory

that does not belong to water.

The stones beneath are warm

with the sorrow of all that burned.

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I kneel among the cinders,

my hands blackened,

my breath tasting of iron and smoke.

The air will not release me.

It whispers:

what fire gives is never gone—

its shade is what you carry home.