Brushfire
A half-life our ephemeral love
disintegrates before chosen time.
Incomplete, incongruous inchlings, as
saplings downed in brushfire. Half-
grown conifers unprotected by the majesty
of adjacent redwoods, stark-naked, virginal
seedlings, sap-filled, untested urges slowly
seeping under a searing solstice.
We burn into blazing night- ashes, remnants
of what might have been:
a lush forest.
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