Fields Burn I’m writing with charcoal in a field on fire because fields burn to burn, they describe the night, roll in it, feel its sensual crinkle so trim like an altar candles that transfix the flicker, the pungent incense smell, the flower arrangement, fields gone fallow that sing good-bye to summer to heat and moonlight moths over tomato fields in the Valley's grand fermentation, saturated earth filled with longings before the host dies and shoulders the drought before rain crumples crinolines and truth douses gravity, so be ready to free fall be free because fields burn to burn.