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a few embers and a wisp of smoke
twirling notes on spiral bars
the first sounds of a flame
orange violins leaping
insectlike among the logs

light breaks free, touching the grass
gingerly woodwind against the face of each bowing blade
swelling symphonic, a melody of the sun cast to earth
drumstrike as a stick snaps, falls flaming
toward quiet and darkness

the echo of high notes in the coals still
the 4'33" of a cellist on her deathbed
who at ten was burned by a leaping ember
and spent the rest of her life setting others on fire
so the song would not be lost

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