The black sky
of antiquity
replaced by
what we do not know
what we fear.
In the depths of thought
do we remember the ancient
rituals and sacrifice at the
base of each tree, at the shoreline,
at our fingertips?
The burning sky approaches
from the south, consuming
what we do not know
what we fear.
How much time remains
is relative.
The burning sky
releases no smoke and
is silent as it paints
the tree tops and horizon.
With eyes closed I leave
here, transported away,
I see the beginning when
the fire began.
A speck in the middle
of the empty field just
after cultivation and through
neglect it gained life.
