Combustion

 

A wave-crest hill
Priding in place
Summited an olive tree
Joying in the cobalt skies.
Lightening cleft
The presumptuous plant
Searing through its trunk
Hurling one third down
The bursting hill, and
Left the morning reeking
Of burning leaves and sap.

***

Ariadne’s thread
Caught fire, and
A slip of flame
Mazed she followed
Scant ash
To doubtful ends
Lost and burning
Unseen, unseeing
While liquid gardens
Glassed the sky –
Fragrant tranquillity.

***

Desire drips
In molten wax
Away
From aching limbs, and the
Scalding pain
Eases
Ceasing casing
In grateful dawning dew.