Weary in this latest of hot afternoons
We toast and wave goodbye to fire
And all its assorted combustibles
That ebb and flow at the end of time,
Early September, a weariness of palm trees,
The bone-deep crispness of magnolia.
The ocean loosens the desert braids,
The San Berdu plumes, as the sand pits are
The San Berdu plumes, as the sand pits are
Ready now for their final exhalations
And the molecules break, the spark turns to ash
Turns to smoke, and the afternoon thinks about
Turns to smoke, and the afternoon thinks about
The smokiness of tea, the dankness of tulips,
As the winds commence from both sides,
The infernos' and those of the unforgiving O,
Arms joined in holy eucalyptus waving.
The fire has won. The park
Is deserted. Everyone has gone home
To their families. Except for me.
