the afternoon is sienna and smoky
dry as a brick and rough like the wrinkles of old age
the crickets have lost their song,
their legs strewn in the cracks of the sidewalk
i see you crawling slowly
leaving gray widows in your wake
the earth buds embers beneath your path
and they glow: beating, undulating and winking
the metal drips from cars like sap
silver rivulets in homage
yet beneath the fire-born lace
there is no life, no heart, no mercy, no will
it is a slow cadence, under the billow of your gown
your sultry way through hills and plains
where are you going?
you will not find me
what are you seeking?
i am no longer there
no matter how high you reach
the rain looms
the clouds are your crown
and the forest- your country
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