Peak Heat Wave

Bring me the cloth from the cave,
The one that notes all the lives

Lived by the wise and the sage,
The cloth rolled out of soft bark,

It needs to find a new place.
Known caves are not, now, safe.

Those old words and worlds will burn.
This ground will smoke for an age.

The point at which words fail folks
Is the point at which we’re freed,

The folks to go back to beasts,
The words to melt in the heat.