What takes the place of fire now: it’s
not heart not snow not the
color that blots (as snow?) not
art not the feel of thick (as rabbits or
guns) not some not home not the
color that blots but blue but
ink & dream & sun & sun & the art
of belief in the heart of sun
what takes the place of fire now –
Gathering just-a-bit-o moss 
Vesuvius, my heart is cinder from ash from fire from heat and obsidian cracking. The core of you is to believe in the mythology of replacement.
Thanks Joao-Maria for such apt engagement allowing the poem to co-evolve.
Beautiful…. ❤️
❤