Match Sticks 1
Fire Wood 2
Fire Wood 1
Fire Water
On a beaten path between high rocks
Narrow views and dry wells
The air holds its breath and the sun turns red
A single songbird dies in flight
Still I go on into parched canyons
Where fire was first housed
I am tall and free
I am sharp as an arrow
I am stealthy as the jaguar
I dance to the drumbeat of a summer night
I am a waterfall tumbling stones
into a river that wanders through valleys,
picks up sticks and rushes to sea
I am a child on the beach looking back at me
– Diana Milia, 2021