We went back today
to see what was no longer there,
to see if there was anything
to salvage from the ashes.
Slippery footing, hidden nails
to stab what was already
heart-broken, scorched.
A copy of Dicken's
'Old Curiosity Shop'
curiously protected
having fallen through the floor
under the only window
that wasn't shattered--
By fire, water - untouched.
A round candle, somehow unmelted,
the wick never lit--lying white
amidst the charred beams.
Gone were several thousand other books.
(thank goodness he'd given me
the two-volume, oversized, leatherbound
Shakespeare from 1798),
Memories lingered in the sooty air,
untainted, untouched
by smoke and fire,
fireproof and safe.
Everything else is gone.
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