Harvesting fires

 

We are harvesting bonfires,
Spreading palms for winter.
How we love a burnt wood!

Old man sun is less fierce.
He moves North to house.
Our bonfires blaze his trail.

Old logs crackle on tongues
Of fire that ascend the sky,
When nobody laughs jokes.

Our bodies are our old logs.
It is difficult to crack jokes
And laugh from the cracks.

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