Arsonist's Remorse

I know what breaks a Greek plate
And the intent of a ceramic artist
The uncertainty of a kiln and the responsibility of variables
Within accidents going places to happen and the ones
We store in jars to preserve an occasion to spill and break and slip
Like the coaxing sparkle of a drying marble floor

As masters of circumstance
We never test the fire
Clip yellow-leafed plants
Cradled legs in hands examining
Dead the skin mixes with sand.

The intellect grows a peach
A bit brain and dripping sweet
A chin mimicking the edge of what a human can face
A volcanic inversion of ash before lava or blood before basalt

We suspend our bodies in burlap decisions
And dangle ripe in the trees burning to bust our guts open
For becoming spectral activity and savorily spent

I could have left a couple chipped dishes
Or a few finger dents in the frosting
Or one yellowing plant
But at the pavers’ discretion
We let the jackhammers in without the courtesy of cones
The decibel level blasts fractions of a tameless terrain

I know the remorse of an arsonist
And the quiet after the crackle
The twisted fate of a toaster taken up in steely flames
I know the accident of throwing unextinguishable matches
Of lovers and time and accidents
Like tricky birthday candles jinxing a wish