The Wildfire

To the people of Valparaíso

Where does it come from,
The full heat of the fire?

Does it come from the hills
Up above us,
Where the standing trees,
Rising their non-fleshed bodies
That patience made,
Dry themselves into the wind?

Does it come from the wind
Howling among the gorges of the hills,
Among the empty space that human will
Filled with garbage bags
Nurtured by time?

Does it come from time
Lapsing from one moment to another,
From one chance to another,
While life itself
Comes inside and out
Of the bodies
Reached by the Sun?

Does it come from the Sun
Whose sparkling light
In the dark night shines
Through woods and hopes
While sorrow yells?

Through Sun, wind, hills and time,
The wildfire runs.

Throughout the span of human lives,
The light ignites.

Written after the prompt of the day of NaPoWriMo.

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