my house is on fire.
i can't look away.
i can't find the exit.
i don't want to stay.

there's smoke in my lungs.
it's hard to catch air.
there are people outside,
but i don't think they care.

i hear water splash
in the buckets they hold—
so crystal, and precious,
and liquid, and cold.

but there is a garden
outside my front door.
we both need the water,
but who needs it more?