TuesdayIIII August

Fire on the Mani Peninsula

Post summer olive trees.
Sun worn kindling sticks.
Smattered with silvery leaves.
Blazing slaves.
Sunken wrecks in a red, red haze.

Flames tumbled from a single tiny spark.
A vandal’s clipper
Or broken glass?
Knees scratched by briar,
Hair’s slicked with sweat,
Tanned fingers flick the splint.
Or a careless cigarette?

Racing against each other,
Burning faster and faster in firey free fall.
Flame haunted rocky Spartan land.
Enflamed land of honey bees and olive trees.