Wildfire
       

The inferno persists.
My skin smolders
and throat flares
with swallowed stars.
Hillsides blaze and birds
are grounded, wings laden

with ash. I dream
of wood, of lightning,
a cigarette's spark.
Coals left undampened
by hunters in a hurry
to remain concealed.

But so little can hide
in a fire. Animals fleeing
into the open
as roofs and walls pant
like living things.
Only chimneys left,

hearths gone cold
and the people
who sat before them,
faces lit. I tongue my lips
but can't stop flame,
grown used to burning.

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Copyright © 2018 Sally Albiso All rights reserved
from Moonless Grief
MoonPath Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission