Impossible Client

I have written the name of your project on a slip of paper

and lit it on fire,

watched the flames as they caught hold,

seeking out, caressing

virgin white paper.

The flames left a trail in their wake;

transfixed, my eyes glued to its advance—

velvety grey shadows meeting

passionate red sparks and brilliant orange light.

All that remains, a pile of ashes in my hand.

I whisper your name and offer them up to the wind,

As sacrifice.

As tribute.

As plea.

The wind carries away your remnants,

scattering to all corners.

Nothing left now,

but smoke.