I once watched a man set himself on fire

I once watched a man set himself on fire. The tire swing ballad of salty waters. The train tracks rattling. The canyon echoed like the warriors of rain. Children running in silence. Charcoal feet.

I am the spider web. I am the falling leaf and his blazing fire. I am the flesh burnt beneath ammo; I am leather. I am haunted by staggering speechless runners armed with feathers and arrows. I am nothing but breath. I am death ropes and train tracks.

And hopeless, the canyon moans in flocks of ravens and rainbows trickle down ancient waterfalls collecting dust and dusty shadows. Omnipotence. I will be there a hundred times over in search lights and helicopters; I will be the sinking ships.

Barefoot. Refuge. Smokestacks and offerings.

Naked and burning he fell from the cliffs. Naked and burning we tumble down with his avalanche. Smashed railway gathering. Wolves dancing around skeletons. Wolves in the water, to drink, to sink; I am only a thinking thing that weeps. To know magnitude and holiness, to hear the keys ring at your waist.