Someone has been a heretic
Since anyone demanded faith.
Someone would rather watch than burn,
But in the end it's beautiful,
The little fire in the courtyard
Chimineria that sputtered
And smoked in the winter canyon
Wind, nearly guttering often,
Gouting rancid reeks of wet, punked
Leftover logs gouged out of dirt
Beside the unoccupied jail
Of cut sandstone blocks, such a part
Of the pitch for buying this house.
In the end, everything burned clean
Down to ash, obeyed the human
Laws of nature equating mass
With energy. There's nothing left
Save white dust come the morning light.