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23/5/20

FOREST FIRE

the crow grins, flutters,
lights a match in the clearing -
it drops to the ground,
the dry grass glows red, then orange,
then barely, as it grows and splits,
consuming, duplicating,
beating at the doors of the trees,
reaching underneath the roots,
throwing upwards loose sparks
as it climbs in a gradual rhythm
and loops around the stray branches,
forming bows and knots,
feeding on the ancient bark,
meeting, at the edge, an empty nest