days of fire

The farm inspires the brightest days of fire
A yellow dawn awakes the golden wheat
Which crackles under the strain of intensifying
Rays of burning orange. Farmer Philip with a bronze
walnutty face ignites the rows of dying straw
The flames run across the field like a molten river racing
towards a murderous plan, baking, toasting, blackening
Next the sun swells up to a terrible size and explodes down
Hard on the tractor cabs which creak in the heat.
The dead eye of a carrion on the lane sizzles and I can smell
Reynard, his hot stench in the long grass, his putrid, panting
Breath, instantly swallowed by hungry rays of sun
Sweat beads, a fly in the throat and molten gold fills the eyes
Burn, Baby, Burn!

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