You look for an ember in the ashes, you blow into it with your remaining breath. You say that we always have more than we think, that this last is not yet. In the ashes is the story we tell, the habit of sleeping, the words that speak of freedom, a long wait, a sovereign childhood. All the torches of your life, all that one day was light.
And love? Yes, love itself can come home with ashes in its voice. Don’t you hear that noise all around you? Wherever we plan crosses, we are preparing to crucify that which could regenerate us. We are closing the back door everywhere, extinguishing their breath, one by one, despairing them, killing them slowly. The men sealed the pact with ashes it seems, look how they worship him. Even bad