Theophany

The heat from morning

became a beast

burning holes

into the

heart of everything

midafternoon.

Even the little bush

by the shed is smoldering.

I didn't plant it-

'twas here

before I appeared.

And as I watch it

puff up with smoke,

I wonder.. will it talk

if I walk up to it?

Will it presume

I'll not be consumed

by American affliction?

My God, this bush

rooted right here

before me!

It burns, but does not die-

while trees cry,

and grass turns brown

without sound,

all around me.