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This little cloud,
With it's papery lungs,
Went up in cinders at it's first breath...
It couldn't hold the light from the prairie fire burning brightly below.
Gangling... breathing hard, the fawn,
She took a cautious step then spilled full frame into the kitchenette,
Feet slippery from the ash.
The glass snake cut the ash...
Carved ribbons around the smolderings...
Only to tie a knot at my feet in a pool of gasoline.
The pines went up with a "hush"
Then slow-burned, whimpering.
I was a flurry of cinders pulled in ribbons from the car.
You were tiny anchors at my sleeve.
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