Chimneys (corrected)

I was at the burnt ground the other day.
The sky was clear, perhaps I was accustomed
To the scent of charred lumber, burnt cars,
Tanged roof tiles, singed into non-being clothes;
The odor did not discomfort.  

At some of the wrecked stores, sign remnants
Hung askew, you might have seen the picture, 
The charming building like a Roman ruin,
Only walls and vaulted empty windows
The sentinels of now vanquished businesses. 

We drove up the hill, looking down to the ocean,
Like a knoll in a cemetery, the still-standing
Chimneys headstones for the ashed houses
Now awaiting excavators to dig up the rubble,
Haul it away, bury elsewhere. 

Here and there we chatted with crews in the first
Blush of return. Homeowners looking at lots,
Wondering when it be prudent to sift through,
To dig up, to find a thing of precious recall,
When they might start anew in the same place

Aware that the same place is not the same place,
But with some effort, elbow grease, help, good cheer,
The same different place might yet again 
Be that good place.  

This place was not, before, Eden,
Nor will it be Eden.  But, with some effort,
Elbow grease, help and goodwill, maybe
It will remind us how precious it is
To yearn for Eden, for that far-past, and 
Once future, home.  

01-31-25