This place I recall,
where I stacked chairs
against the wall, placed in rows
like a caravan,
readied as a train to resign.
Something empty,
forgotten in a room
with silver clouds and wooden tomes
describing Vesuvius and its ashes
falling.
That which buries me
only spalls, and I – willing for lightning
to strike –
don’t forget that
beneath the cumulonimbus,
one part rains,
another part shades.
Taps and Ratamacues 
So very beautiful. Awesome work.
Thank you!
Love, the last stanza in particular.
Thanks Tosha.