A colorless autumn field;
dried grass moving in the wind
waiting for the fire;
all that remains
of love once sown here.

We called this place our heaven:
a song-filled haven
where we hid
our sinful pleasures.

In the passion of Summer
it surely was,
but now smoke rises
as a different fire burns.

I watch
a hungry fire consume that past
until nothing remains
but blackened, barren ground
exposed to rain and wind.

I cry in silence,
knowing my tears can never bring back
summer’s sweetness
nor be enough to saturate the soil
and yet the floodgates open
and tears flow like rain
upon a thirsty soil.