911

The fire sighs and flips the ravaged timbers to the floor,
sends soaked ashes swirling in currents toward the door.
Blue flames lick at skins of walls, then weave around the beams,
trying to escape the fire fighter’s streams
as they emerge in masks from the house’s inner places,
assassins of those flames who’ve chosen not to show their faces.
Thus is the conflagration robbed of its power and beauty
by this crew that sees extermination as its duty.

For The Sunday Whirl
The prompt words are sighs fire flip ravaged blue floor emerge masks ashes soak skin weave