web in the mist

sunrise in fog

the sky is on fire
in the east

a scarlet stain bleeding
through a million prisms

flowing molten
into an ocean of white

birds like flying ashes
dart from tree to tree

and your heart
if it could

would pass like a net
through the shimmering blaze

to hold the flames
for an hour

like these cliffs
burned clean

each dawn
in a furnace of dew