Wild Fire Of Nightfall Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Late dusk's burning sky,
a polychromatic blanket
full of satin weaves
and yellow melting wax,

flushes itself out into
a fast current of showered
floating amber floods
swooshed off by howling dogs.

It bloats in flashy jerks
into a flowing yellow lagoon
sprinkling and splashing
its waters onto birling shores.

The sky carries blue-furrowed
ridges of smoky flames
roaring with a growing gale,

as it rolls across
and beyond
a dark and yellowish
rumbling wild fire

grazing on a sky's
grassy and reedy mass of smoke.

(ii)

The gods have gripped
the sky by its flying dreadlocks,

black birds of cinder
flying and floating,
as they hover in frolicking leaps.

But in its brittle sprinkled
candle flame-waving embers,
the ceiling of earth

breaks off, somersaulting
into a lake frozen
out of a stone-shrunk icy fright.

(iii)

On the lake, the growling dusk
has placed annealed glass
over float and toughened glass

to build a stretching carpet
of a mirror. Etching out on ice
a sky standing on its
flamy tapered whisked tail

waving at a heavily
soot-bearded evening ground
into a dark powder
of rolling clouds
and weaves of smoke.

O gods of gold
on a thick trunk of night,
I bow to your smelting feat,

when no bellows
breathe out
a blacksmith's sprayed glow.

Only a lonely sun
sinking below the horizon
abandons the world
to its own dark light.