but when the field is back to corn
burning even in the morning
glass up to my lips but not tipped back
stomach so full of those nameless moths
wooden teeth, snapping twigs, broken breaths

when I live in the wildfire but the
wildfire’s far from town
so only I hear the screaming, crying
in the confines of the burning cell
watching row and row of farmland shrivel

when it’s metal bars and fading scars
instead of what reminds me of the summer
and the stars aim for my head when they fall
panic breaking windows through lifeless arms
I can’t understand.