the sun
    is weeping
        sickly orange
        light

    through the window

casting shadows
    that stretch
        smoke thin
        fingers
    across the floor

        like it can reach us

even inside

and everything
        is burning

    wood
        flesh

            stone

the hum
    of insects
        extinguished

    as the flowers
gasp in the
    swelter

    children
        wearing
    medical masks

        too small
            for the breadth
                of this

        lungs alight
            with cinders

and
    i can taste
        the ashes
            on my tongue