Water is life,
but not all life
is water.
Fire burns in the sky,
much from the same vein
as blood falls from.
What great elixir!
The mesmerizing
forked tongues of flame
that course across the eyes
and quicken hearts.
Speak.
Each syllable that quits the mouth,
a drop of rain
upon this parched ground.
Speak.
With each word
thunder bolt ignites
the dead fall
that has piled up
for ages.
These eyes
are but receptors.
This mouth,
wide, dry, and yearning.
Every spitfire word
feeds us,
as our lungs cry out
for new air,
thick now with ozone.
The clouds gathered
across our brow,
and now
we reap the storm.
Louder now,
once scattered droplets
tumble out
in a torrential downpour.
Water in the eyes.
Fire behind them.
Soliloquy smoldering
and flaring high
with every breath drawn.
What end to this?
Destruction?
Oh, most certainly!
But with the deluge
and the conflagration
the temple is rent,
a new keystone must be laid.
Tumultuous.
No holding back.
The breaking of the heat
that has oppressed our summer.
There was no recourse,
for this
is how life renews.
Fire and water,
all at once,
or not at all.
Each one on its own
heralds the destroyer.
As we shelter
in the small spaces,
the cacophony outside
bears us
to relinquish
our own fears.
Draw down
every sprite and sheet.
This is the end,
of that,
we are certain.
The words that come
once night falls
will echo
in the crystalline empty.
Tomorrow,
we will speak a light
into existence.
New fire in the sky,
and fresh water on the ground.
DJR – 2023
