On Fire

That careless hand
(manicured, fine long fingers)
lingers, then flicks –
and the yellow straw grass lining
the highway sighs before it sparks
(neither in the car look behind
them – the road ahead leading to
paradise)
and the wind exhales its breath;
giving life to a flame that rises
on its haunches, crawls across the earth
and finds its prey –
licking the aspen trunks,
swallowing whole trees
as it jumps from one to another
in search of more

and the fire rages

across the land.
Mother Earth’s hand
in so many…
(her heated breath,
spikes of angry light
shooting like fingers)
pointing at the forest
(she doesn’t look back –
she’s always known
paradise)
and the wind exhales its breath,
complicit, as old growth forests
with ancient trees, standing for
centuries, now crumble into
ash

and the fire rages

while a blue hand reaches
across the sky, spreading its fingers
wide –
(its canopy startling in its
beauty, startling in its danger:
no sign of paradise).
The wind holds her breath –
Omitted clouds for days and weeks,
While the sun and wind conspire

and the fire rages

even against oceans of water
(dumped at the hands of humans,
toiling with numb fingers and
tired arms to save
paradise)
into forty nights the battle ensues,
while the wind brushes the skies
(over quiet lands with brilliant
hues of neon pink and blood
orange, death-red)
it is silent

and the fire rages.