At the end of a dust and sandpaper summer
the mirage of a distant oasis fading on the horizon

the grasses crisp and brittle
seeds and deeds done their duty

the time for burning has come

i will wake up early
with the red ribbon sunrise
and set my torches aflame

nothing shall remain at the end of this day
i’m sending it all back
from whence it came
to the deep brown earth

golden fields turned to black
charred remains of looking back
pungent smoke and acrid skies
clouds of ashes fill my eyes

every year
it comes again
this time of burning

and yet I stand afraid
to reap and sow
to burn, replant
grow

beyond this field