Fire Sky

The drought continues

even as leaves

speak of autumn.


Mining the land

speaks of leaves.

More trees are leaving,

felled forests of life.


We have become

the surface planet,

surface hard, brittle.


Imagine the jobs

to replant our patch

so that it becomes

the planet it was.


I digress: tonight

bush burning

turned the dusk

to fire


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I grow a green frame

around my patch,

plants climbing

towards a flotsam sky.


Off the new highway

greenless and treeless

and even leafless,

without the brush

and scent of sage

or a camellia dawn,

living in shadows,


pale from windblown pollution.


Yet even there

where the horizon

changes from green

to grey

cosmos finds a way

to grow in concrete.


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