I watched the explosion from my chair outside,
mesmerized by little paws, dancing all along the edge
of a wall
pushed out of hoof-chewed ground-
this is the way our town burns down.
Fire licks and whines along the edges
scarring streets and buildings-
our family home assumes the shape
of some small person
next to a house departed as ash.
It is the kind of winged migration
that rides the wind too far, too fast.