Ashes

She is sweeping up the ashes
of the bridges
that I have burned down.

I stand there and watch,
then fall to my knees,
and grab handfuls of
cinders,
and say:

“Did I do all of this?
Is this all my fault?
Can I fix this?”

She keeps sweeping,
looks away,
and offers no reply,
because the bridge to her
was the one that I burned
first.

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