i
Those mornings after the fires
Remember the smoke
Raining ash upon the withered earth
The snaking river
Scythed in two
By the crackling heat
Volcanic thunder
The roar of death’s delight.
 
ii
They piece together the runes of survival.
They draw upon the earth
The ruined house
The levelled school
The animals cleaved into dying.
They make sense of the chaos
Those simple shards
Willed into playful being.

 
iii
Bring us their garlands of delight
Bound with the freedom to create
Burnished with the power to enchant
Crazed with colours that enrich
In words that bed 
A thousand blooms
Vivid in the morning light:
Children after the fire
​

​
​February 2020

​
Gar Jones