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

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

Night Chorale

First the orchestra tunes up

low echoes bouncing off bush

burn cooling the humid air

by filling the gaps of space

where silence lives. Here

cicadas pitch below ground

and crickets tiptoe, forking

sound whispers like snails.

Only later does the chorus

syncopate, fruit bats

yabbering into night