From break of dawn,


    the blazing morn,


    now burns all things away.


    Tell me finch


    and sparrow,


    shall there again


    be this timeless, red calenture?


    These days with fire filled,


    cicada-dreamed,


    a sickness sung and shrilled


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.a song whined in the


    chord of crickets


    and mosquitoes


    feasting anew


    on this fever-wearied blood,


    oppressed by heat


    and the lethargy of these


    slowly passing days,


    Indifferent, I watched


    the westering sun


    consume the earth


    with its god-cursed


    fire,


    and considered myself


    damned,


    like every other soul


    in hell.