There is a fire outside my door, a reddened flame beside my sill.
Fit over top, deadened still, sit
distressed floorboards, tokenized form.
From my repose, a leadened, broke
figure, entrapped by soot and grime;
lies that round my fleshy threshold.
Heat wicking at nasal mantle
with burnt tendril, a puff of smoke
that snuck its way throughout a crack
in my door, to find its way home.