We were running through a burning museum,
so horrified to find an escape.
We did not realize
it was our rush setting things
on fire.
Creators of immense beauty.
Unstoppable arsonists.
We ran,
our lungs filled with dust,
Is escaping a blessing or a curse?
It is
How it is.
Escaping.
A heap of smoking ashes
In a half burned frame
And no walls to hang it onto