Unfazed

The earth is black, where

the fire has got to it,

scorched and bruised

where match and lighter fluid

met.

A mess. Dead and barren,

smoking still, awful in the

English late summer sun. Sadness

hangs in the thick, pungent

air, for a livelihood laid waste.

A field once bright and rich with

life, rent asunder by careless youth,

lies lifeless now, outside the window,

behind his house. He sets a stony

face against his ruin, but he is

caught unawares by something

unexpected

A heron. There’s no reason for this

bird in an inland island of dashed hope,

standing one leggedly, out of place and

lost. He laughs, before he can stop

himself, and stares for a full silent

five minutes, at the misplaced animal

until its wings swing wide, and white

and surprising in their big, open span,

unfazed by the death beneath its

feet.