Burning Days

The water so clear
I cannot escape
the riverbank.
Out here on my own
with everyone looking.
Dogs crawl in the thorns
and whirlwinds
spun by helicopters
over them.

Everywhere they search
ravaged by axe blades
and unknowable fire.
A red bird in a dead
tree like an echo
of those burning days.

Eventually they’ll call it off
and no one will have found me.
Here where the raptors
snatch the grazers
in the off beat moments,
and the mountain
snow melts down
absolving thirst.
My cursed kind
no longer welcome.
The hillside slides away
taking everything with it.