The Burning Ones

They’re waiting for my explosion
On our island—this desert oasis
I walked all night on the moonlit dunes
With sand in my shoes like the last mile
My time here over burnt orange dust of the shadows and peaks
We gather here at the edge of the world
Before the sun rises
the generators and pickups on the hill
defy the night at our stage
though the paper lanterns hovering above
assure this time will not dry out with the sun
this overture will resonate
and transcend whatever crosses paths
with this exclamation of existence

the rusted stage-lights flicker with low grade gas
as the sand storm blows by our crescendo
the crash of the cymbals and bellow of bass—my call
brings tears to the eyes of our girls in the bucket seats
we’ve begun our ascension—the metamorphosis to the pure
as the sun peeks over the distant mountains and marmalade clouds

the amplifiers line behind us—a wall
our seraphim to carry us home
we blast them into the heavens
until the sun retires and the gas dry
lady fingers trace the windows as their feet melts with the sand
the letters have been sent—and no goodbye can console
we leave this stage for the next burning ones
and take our own paths back to the water
with a Holy buzz and the moon’s caress