Voices in the devastation

Voices rise and bubble amid

the devastation, singing

a ribald song on the streets

of Dresden, still burning.

Voices rise to the woods,

seeking refuge from the flames,

bubbling like popped blisters.

After the funerals, after

the death sentences, after

the trials and arrests come

the rejoicings, necessary

if not sufficient acts to atone,

if only partially, small twigs,

barely green, barely twigs.

He walked in the forest

of his heart, and found

he was lost, the path

vanishing like smoke

snaking to a dark sky, or

disguised by fallen leaves

blackened in silence.

Photograph: Autumn Fire by Mark Coldren via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.