This slow fire

I wait for this urgency to become just that — urgent
But see, it sprawls like a desert, and other continental things
It follows me like a strand of pearls, step by sauntering step
I am crushed by the desert’s expectations

These changes, in their haste to find cover,
Lovingly, painstakingly claw glittering passages inside me
Like my left hand clumsily partnering with a knife, or a pen
A light shifting from red to green, urging me secretly — to go

This is not inertia, no; I have already acted, yes
But this trail of fire I’ve left burning in my wake
Progresses so languorously, its heat warming, not hurting
This time around, I ask myself — where is last year’s inferno?

Daily Post daily prompt: Urgent


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