Twisted skeletons in grotesque poses
lift their charred arms to a sky
bluer than any lagoon.
Their souls whisper in the breeze
playing around them gently
like children between church pews,
offering benediction for things
lost in the fire.
The blackened landscape surrenders
to emerald foliage, seemingly
out of place in nature’s graveyard,
remnants of a long-ago burn.
It is a wilderness jigsaw puzzle,
the yin and yang of survival
in a place such as this.
Fire is a wanton savage,
the burn a purification.
Pine cones unblushingly
opened their skirts to melting resin,
spitting their guarded seeds
into ravaged soil,
sanctified by cremation of the old
and ready to birth sanguine shoots
that will resurrect the land.
The standing dead keep watch,
relics of the devastation
that brings forth life.