The land is flaming,
we, the fire,
dancing, twirling,
turning, burning,
incandescent and alight.

We leave the earth
blackened as the endless void,
as witnessed by the cradling blue.
We are buoyant.
We tread our gust-steps,
we, the self-appointed masters of air.

The clouds converge
like desperate hands seeking naked spots,
shielding us from the honest ruin below.
As if this could ever hide a single thing
from the all-voracious lidless sun.
As if this could ever save a single one of us
from our inevitable dispersal
into the wind.

We burn from above and below,
within and without,
come shine, come dark,
come time, come limitless space.
We burn the dirt, we burn ourselves,
everything ignites, catches the all-spark,
and enriches the light.

Destruction is the pregnancy of progress.
The phoenix will rise in place of you and me,
with ever more radiant wings.
Don't long for everyone you lost,
their beauty fuels the flame
that lights the way ahead.