the fire

she burned from
the bottom up,
her wires singed
and sparked,
the tinder of her
bones,
set ablaze,
the feathers of
her heart
the frame of her
soul, paper thin,
too hot,
too far gone
to be put out.
even his axe
against
the doors,
the windows, could
not save her.
the ladder of his
love
empty, swaying
in the night.
she would be ashes
before dawn,
left cold and
wet
in the debris
of what she didn't
see coming.
her misplaced love.