I wake choked.
The air is acrid,
heavy and filled with smoke
here in this place I now reside.
A burned out forest,
filled with black
stumps, snags and fallen trees,
testament to the life that was here,
before she died.
I walk and my feet
stir up clouds
of ash.
My head aches with it,
my eyes burn and tear.
Soon I am covered
and no amount of
scrubbing
relieves me of this,
this death,
this loss, this ravaged place.
I am stained with it,
grief.
by 