A silver shield protects the beating heart,
Like the gas-soaked canvas protects the rings
The unmarked grave under the birch tree
is covered with the dry leaves of autumn
colored like candy apples.
Snow scours the top of the grave in June
and the world turns upside down
as the flaming tent turns inside out.
Animals roar as the flames lick the corners
and humans are animals as well.
She stood looking down, contemplating jumping
her heart beating silver against her chest
No one noticed her until she was under the white sheet
one arm sticking out, lost of promises
long after the animals deserted.