It doesn’t matter who lit the flame
that burned the Reichstag down,
only that it burned and so few
considered what cremation means
to those who long for proper burial.

Were there citizens to witness
the arsonist at work?
Could they have his intentions doused?

No matter. The economy was bad
and it felt good to scream
“Reichstag! Reichstag! Reichstag!”

For days the embers lingered
like a bee in nectar drowned.
For days the ashes flowed
like the violent undertow of waves
of people marching the streets,
where it was a relief to chant
“Reichstag! Reichstag! Reichstag!”

Soon they would find employment
in factories for tanks, planes, bombs,
like so many ceramists shaping bleak urns
at minimum wage—

But it did not matter
because the economy was bad
and there was cruel solidarity in singing
“Reichstag!” long into the torchlit night.