Fire Season

It doesn’t take much
A culmination of
The smallest sparks
Pushing toward a center
Flowing
As an ant army
Returning home
Inevitable
Centripetal pull
And all the brush
That should have been removed
Just can’t wait
To indulge itself
In the only task
Its lifeless
Useless
Body could be good for

To gather companions
And collect the sparks
For the love of flame
Pushing boundaries
Of color
In red and orange
And yellow
Until it’s all black
And the only recourse left
Is to watch it
Thrash through
Field and forest
In one great wave
And all that’s left alive
Clinging to branches
Hiding under rocks

Poor firewalls
As the only choice left
Is burn

And one day
As a breeze
Kicks up dust
Across the black
Broken
Restless abandon
You consider
How easy it would have been
To stamp out every spark
Had you only known their worth
Had only considered their plan
But the cold breath in your mouth
The extinguisher in your hand
Was anything but
And it becomes clear that
This was no accident

For it’s hard to deny
That love exists
Between a flamethrower
And everything
Prepared to burn.

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