The ash makes
For a bittersweet spice
When mashed up in garlic
And put over rice
An extinguished fire
Has no right to burn
But you should you let it
Waste away in its urn
Let it become
What it never had been
Be it food for the plants
Or dust in the wind
Or something to choke on
Each bite that you take
The most edible poison’s
The one that you make
A Life in Poems 