Brushfire

Some miles off, a brushfire burns
and the smoke, like the skirt of a tireless Sufi
turns. Neither rising nor sinking
but silently stitched to the ancient
waist of wind and drought — whirled
— the one vast spark that would
make blaze of such dry tinder.

Image: Hulki Okan Tabak on Unsplash

2 Thoughts

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