Burnt

I threw myself against a fence
hoping for a spark to catch then give
in a rush of poppies like a fever
yellow red roiling black fingers raking sand

From an eroding cliff came the late bloom
a ringing filament in the spine
pulled taught by some needful thing
then left with gravity to splinter and burn

Left sinking against black into some divine haze
where want gives way to want and stems turn
the flames are contained owing nothing to hunger
where smoke doesn't mean a fire but a lie

Even the immolated needed to breathe
and needed a place to burn their hunger
and a hunger upon which to place this discontent

A place for flames that bring no light, only heat.