Burnt Offerings

I have been picking up the ash all day,

As thin as skin, emery-grey,

It flew up in the night,

And settled here, as if to say,

Put me together, tease me out,

Mark out the places,

And make me fit.

I sit, unnerved by the 

Night's unwonted flames,

The private spaces -

Books, knick-knacks, photos,

The minutiae that frames

Why we live,

How we live,

Hiding an ever-fragile carapace -

The all we are, rendered

Like a shopping list,

All gone.

Next day, the house

crouches,

Forlorn, ambiguous,

Frowning as if offended,

Tenebrous in the blue above,

As if a sudden joy,

Or even happier pulse,

Had ended.