Sun blazes before it falls,
slashes the day’s sky –
blue guarding against blaze.

Golden grasses absorb
the fire, brazen in their
clay-baked fields.

Branches blacken –
forlorn bristles –
stark against light.

I stand on the precipice,
day’s end beckoning,
taunting, my spirit alive

Will blaze before it falls,
lashing against the heavens
who dare to threaten darkness.