FUTURE: Straw core at natures whim, secure on man-shaped metal. Galvanized the internal fear of fires onslaught on carbon. It’s not the flame that frightens but the flambeaux, the source. As torches touch dry leaf and leaf, heat encroaches with smoke as companion. That beauty beyond, that matchstick divinity, struck by the invisible hand. It’s hard to breath, but it was before the stoke. We should've stopped, dropped, and rolled long ago, yet it burns ever closer causing choke and cough, even in rain billows gray air. Our recourse: a controlled self-burn round the shallow surface of each, making space for a ceasefire and revealing a frightened child underneath.
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