Ash

White moths without eyes

absent mouths, single winged

 

remnants

of combusted life

 

thermal motion

relieved of flame.

 

You weave wild,

lifted by swirling air

 

that catches you in its

confused grip, heat mixed

 

with cold. You rise and

you fall and you fall

 

and you land, decorating

my sleeve and my thigh as

 

I extend my fingers toward

the warm licks

 

roaring above your

steaming corpse.

 

I cry tears that purge your

smoke and you wander

 

away carried by a slow

southeasterly wind.

 

-Josephine Pino

Josephine is a biologist educator who has recently discovered that poetry, teaching and science not only play well together, they help each other thrive. She has published in El Portal, Cathexis NW, Curating Alexandria, Raw Art Review, and Tiny Seed Literary Journal.