Fire Escape
go lightly onto fire escapes
in the places we once lived:
those iron window balconies,
a luxury for renters,
locus indeed of escape,
now tentative,
liminal:
one
foot one
cheek one
eye out,
the rest in—
threshold of:
muted sirens, klaxons,
sweet smoke, the odorless
smoulder of Salinger,
Carver, wafting airs
of lunar streams played
on small guitars:
an intonation,
a kindling of
indecision:
not to escape the flames
but to await candescence,
the flight of fire itself.
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This is beautiful