yesterday is burning.

not cleanly, but like an oil fire with
lots of dark smoke and haze;
it’s not clear anymore what
lies on the other side.

i should try and save
what i can, i suppose,
sort through mouldering triumphs
before all is ash, but

the acridness singes the hairs inside my nose,
makes me want to squint my eyes and duck my head,

forget it ever happened.