Burning Hands

Anyone musing
about burning their hands
on fire itself or even upon
the stones stacked carefully
around flames
ought to consider
the follies of what they feel
and how long it may take to gain
skin and feelings back
after the burn has ended.

You’ll be rubbing
the scars long after
they were supposed
to have healed.
You may never get
all of the sensations
you once gloried over 
to fill back in.

You do not have the vision
to see the whole truth of a beach
between tides
where the holes left behind
where children once dug
are slowly vanishing,
their walls seeping and crumbling
until they are full
of forgetting.

You have no ears sharp enough
to understand all the messages of wind
between trees in a forest.
The sound you thought was music
is gone now and all that’s left
is silence over
the browning green
on the ground below.

You have no tongue
upon which you can savor
all the lingering tastes
of a grand feast.
It’s bitter and foul
in between your teeth
and you won’t approach
anyone this way face to face.

You ought to know
that what seems grand
as you approach flames
held fast in their stone ring
is just certain fatality couched in 
gentle warmth from a safe distance,
looking like celebration
until it can consume all.