the oak china hutch

gleams under poseur sunlight
filtering through electric wires
and frosted glass;

lingers as years breathe rust
on copper hinges and worn edges
a few dress sizes slimmer;

pops, hisses and cracks
when mimicking the kitchen table
as it drinks sparks and flames;

crumbles as glowing orange
veins and ash-white arteries
burst into a wisp of opaque smoke;

lies dying in a wheat field,
drowning in it's own ashes and mud
as the rain irrigates its remains
to kiss rocks along the ravine.