New

Ask what glows faintly in the light 
        of a hidden moon, where the sudden
whiff of sulfur and clove comes from—
        Someone somewhere is always burning 
something: the slats of a broken door,
        moving boxes, letters that still have 
the power to hold you hostage to old 
        griefs. When only the ashes remain, you
can't tell one apart from the other.  Go
       inside and change your clothes 
so the smell of smoke won't sink 
       into your skin. Feel how, like a clear 
stream, the water you drink
      pours down your throat.