The Flame

By the time anyone noticed it,
the fire was too large to contain.
Ashes pulled free from the flames
like so many bats,
black and beastly,
their angled, tangled wings
dipping, ducking, diving
in a swirling spire.
The last remnants of a life which
so recently was.

You looked at me
through squinted eyes,
“Do you remember . . . ?”
“Yes.” I nodded
and took your hand.
And because it wasn’t us,
we went home to make love,
all the while wondering what
marks the difference
between ecstasy and agony,
hoping for a difference,
but knowing they both start with a spark.