Midsummer Fire

Midsummer Fire

 

Flames and leaves all blow one way

And a mile-long slick of smoke

Spews funk across the downs.

Hedgerow taints of fox and rot

Mingle with the tattered stench

Of smuts and ash, the brambles

Scribbled against a wash of fire.

Elm leaves, barbed wire, knots

Of branches, are silhouettes

Against a shred of sun spilt

Across the field, a spreading rash

Of blackness in its train. Birds

Are silent. All the butterflies flit

Upwind. Beetles scud through grass:

 

Some fly; some pitch toward the flames.

 

Poem by Giles Watson, 2012.

 

Done