Sunday, October 18, 2015

Wild Fire

by Marilyn Braendeholm

Fire takes its opportunities.
Wind-burning-whipped bridges 
of smoke on rising spinets of fury. 
Rise and fall, flakes of flame and ash 
scattering weather, then swept
and settled to fall scorched. And 
as fire grows, the wind sings dark. 
The heat endured but not so darkness, 
nor that noise. Aerolites fall into 
throaty pits, as fire draws darkness 
in its parchment heart.

1 comment:

  1. Nice one, Misky. For use, fire is wild fires are not quite so poetic; instead leaving behind a more pathetic landscape. But I can appreciate the imagery and the sentiments. I enjoyed this very much.