Red curls blaze
at the ends of my hair
like the last rays of sunset,
as twilight grows
over my crown.
Auburn waves cascade
over my chest
like wildfire rushing downhill
while snow creeps slowly
over the peaks.
Another summer fades
wasted in futility
though this
is the best-case scenario.
We keep losing things
already lost.
We keep wasting brilliance
on mediocrity,
then complain
nothing changes
as we wither.
What is the purpose
of such hubris and decline?
Do the gods test us?
Does our planet best us?
Perhaps the cosmos
just wants to know
what devastation
feels like.
© S. Rinderle, July 2026
Such a lovely photo, and werrt poem, Susana … may I publish it in the next issue of Fixed and Free Quarterly? Maybe along with “Decline” Part I?