Burning ages

Image by Bianca Mentil from Pixabay

Fugacious thoughts
filter between the light
into a lake of infinitudes
through the semiotic day

moving lagoon memories
past poets quelled by you
whispers of how to grow old
with Wollemi and Gondwana.

Your ripples smooth away
the urban mean screens
shrilling around my head
dissolving insignificance.

Your branches dismiss
our swaying questions
with certainty, bringing back
shame, restraint, submission.

I touch the falling flames
smell the burning missives
of what your age teaches
of a measured and benign life.

How can I be ready
to burn into ash
before you all do?
How. How. How!

© Caterina Mastroianni. All rights reserved.