Hollow Roof

Runaway gravel roads, you want them to never end
and you kick a country breeze down the dusty valley,
clover and the punch of wild roses drift with you,
two black horses stand facing each other near the end of the horizon,
a red barn with a white-trimmed roof over their shoulder.
You feel your feet grip the rocks and you run
a blur of green crescendos as you leap a low strand of barbed wire,
full bore now, the white trim rises over the bend of the field,
the blue sky
is perfectly still,
you challenge your legs for a final push
the world runs with you now,
the smoke from the loft crawls out of a lone window,
and nobody is there to help you,
you are too late
flames paint the roof an electric orange
your legs fail you
the last thing you see
is the dark hollow of a fresh grave,
burning.