::04:30:08::

::: Debris :::

We were
a heap of debris stacked
nearly five feet high.
Broken branches,
trimmed hedges, brown leaves,
even a few pulled up weeds.
The ruins of our yard.
The clippings of old growth
sheared off love.
We felt
a little gasoline would help.
And next we knew,
Fire, Fire, Fire, Roaring
up toward the sun.
Rippling waves of heat.
Forcing us to step back
and watch our garden
turn to ash.

Remember
Ishtar was enslaved
in the fires of the underworld.
Yet the waters of life
were sprinkled upon her head
as she danced with bells
past the seven veils.
Her bosom
was filled with precious stones.
So too,
the apple tree blooms,
while the rose buds open,
and honey bees pirouette.
In the instrumental breeze,
in the harmony of spring,
tiny sprouts of wild grass
pop out of the ash.
And so too,
even I must ask,
Will this love outlast
the pain?

Written by: ~ Dean Walker