Two Years After the Fires

on the ridges
trees in death
black arms still flexed
for holding up the sky

but it falls
strung between them
whitely broken
such soft caressing 
of their limbs

now rain comes
the marching of time
slick silver arrows

we walk in a valley torn flat
trees prostrated by flood
the tinny upper flutes of the river
belie its surging muscle

bird-song's ripple
among scotch thistles
the vertical thrust of green

a gargantuan snake
heralded by tinkling bells

I looked into a paper daisy
and saw Earthโ€™s centre
pillars of fire
the very prisms of life

and around us
all the lost butterflies

20 thoughts on “Two Years After the Fires

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