The way we roam
without burden
around it, as if
we couldn't be bothered to stay
and attend.
The way we often stop,
and sit
and sip quietly before it,
so assured
by the taste of its honey.
lean in close to speak
to one another,
always saying goodnight,
no matter how horrible.
Mostly, the way
we continue to write
and read
and warm our cold bodies
by its light—
all these
must be our ways
of praising
this world
in effigy, as it splendidly
burns.
