Not leaves

but ashes

fall.

What bits land,

finding their way through closed windows,

into lungs,

are the remains

of your house,

your physical memories blazed.

I hesitate to breathe,

resisting

what is true.

With each opening of the door,

grief swirls,

covers the floor,

in grey, white, black.

It, too, will one day join this soil,

grow new forest,

stronger community.

But now,

staying inside,

I watch what has replaced rain.