Fireless

Fireless

Barely leaves a mark
on the day, a yellow smear
behind thin cloud,

low, tired, the sun burns out,
heaving itself over
the tree-lined horizon.

No burning these damp days
of leaf-sodden twilight,
no fire in the sky.

Twig-black cracks,
wind rising, scattering last crows,
and we hold

our summer-warm pebbles
tight as talismans,
smooth as new eggs.