Forest Fire

Faltering in this season

on the hook like a sandpiper

never sure when the mountain stops

or if my sedentary position

is really a bird in my hand

or a dream I cannot force.

Where I crawl from ignorance

and dry despair, my mouth is finished

with kissing, finished with speaking

its voice of obscure ecstasy.

Because it is finished, it is night

and my plight is solitude.

I have lost my home

and clothes of wild colours.

I have lost and cannot gain

a chance to govern the crowd within.

My foliage is painted. My sun is slaughtered

but still so much heat remains.

Copyright © 2006 by Allison Grayhurst

You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

Forest Fire