There is a reddish moon in the morning sky
Raw pink like sunburnt skin
Left too long to bake in the sun
Someone has sliced an orange in half
Exposing a fleshy citric succulence
With a squirt that burns the eye.
The last flicker of flame before the lapse.
A crimson surge before the fade to white ash.
They say it’s due to wildfires
Raging thousands of miles away
Scattering all the western light.
Homes and and fields and forests seared
Even the vineyards in the valleys are at risk
All those grapes swelling and hissing
Before they pop like millions
Of tiny moons on the verge of bursting
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