Fired Up
Ruthless hot the angry August sun glares
down upon the slope. Nothing moves. My
dog sleeps in a pool of light while I stare
at a gap in the outer wall which I
will have to fill. But not right now. With luck
I can ignore it till the weather cools.
This is the unforgiving rut I’m stuck
within – a heat-induced inertia rules.
Yet this inaction, I begin to think,
is that to which all human business tends,
for everything resolves as rest; a blink,
and all that once was living finds that end.
Whatever is, is burning up – you, me;
to burn to ash is what it is to be.