Water has reached the mouth yet has not put out flames
Distant coastlines appear a single figure stains it
still see the sun struggling behind its cover
The man with fire in his mouth saluts it
None can tell whether it is rising or setting
whether there are words in the fire of the man
Can anything beneath his burning mouth be salvaged
The land will go up in flame
Is the warmth sinister even if it defies winter
If it melts snow and consumes despots?
Or merely an invention of a warped mind
A magic of a fierce will?
And if you finally reach the shore
will you recognise the land by its blackness
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