Pink Burning

Bones of volcanoes, long dead,
stand paper doll cut
in the pink burning sky.
The soul of vapered water
hovers, vampired from life,
teasing the top tree tips.
Breath of sun baked concrete
caresses skin weeping wet
wanting for night cool dark.
Ears ring to insect screams
waiting for the piercing,
when black swallows the sky.

Scott L. Strait