PotD #6: Cinders in the Gloaming
Lightning splits the parched air,
drier than since the ancients walked
ridgelines cobbled by eons of wear.
The conflagration bellows and rends
the ancestors asunder. It thrusts
worry into her nose, lungs, and belly.
Terror spews from the mouths
of the beasts on two legs,
their children spitting cinder plumes
into the gloaming.
Peter Walks for Democracy 
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