Burning the Fields

The air is
conflicted by
contrasting scents:

the sharpness of fire,
the cool, gritty mud.
You feel the heat

behind Plexiglas
windows, as earthbound
thunderheads

unfurl like chiffon
hems from a
cream couture dress.

The sparks are licking
and biting at the
clay colored sky.

She would look perfect
just standing at the
edge of the fire.