by Andrew Calhoun, recording 2018
There was a young tree that the flame came to
And it dried out the water, and it blackened the greenness,
And it stripped the leaves spitting
Its skeleton drew on the back of the sky.
And there was a guy who trafficked illusion
Who thought it was truth, so his sales were high
Till the day of the fire with its dreamy conclusion
And water beading on charred wood.
And there was a woman who built her own house
Out of muscular pines, huge and warm
Men come and go while the children are growing
To respect fire.
In the land of new humor, where the dream is born
And the mask is broken, and the captain slain
A prophet sings shyly of sweet resurrection—
Of green plants pushing through black terrain.
Who's to blame for the fire's hunger,
Which signs its name on every branch?
It's no secret, it's no wonder—
It's only happenstance.