Fire

I am a forest under fire
I am blackened trunks and ash and smoke
and the bones of small things that should’ve been

but I am also fireweed and
bristlecone pine seedlings and
everything that was impossible before

I am stars glimpsed through broken branches
I am moonlight slipping over the gray floor
I am the things that are

I am birdsong defiant against the ash
and new life pushing from the shattered ground
I am the roots that remain

I still am

– The Stethoscopist

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