Ian

And do you remember, liebchen, days with hot lunch and dinner?
Days of running in sprinklers spray up and
turning the Lone Ranger’s many gunfights down?

But since we are here with hammer and nails
chisels and pain, to do the work of our lengthy,
lengthened lives, let me work in the sun
sweat patiently in the heat
that will one day reduce me to the small cinders
which represents nothing.
In my dying fire, clothe me in that heat
as I am multiplied into ashes and light.

And you, remember to leave the window open
to hear our far-away cries
and let light in.