Range of Light, Range of Terror

Photos cannot capture the light
falling across his body.
He is standing in flame.
To the West is the rest of his life.
To the South and East are history.
An archaeologist can recover
something. A cherished pen,
a hand-tooled belt in silver,
glittering shards of grief.
Leave him there you family
of the body. Your pages
turn in the wind. Write
them again and again.