the aquamarine wheat
shimmered
across the fields
as another gust
of wind
threatened
the sky
full of grit
tinged purple
with clouds of dust
whipped up
from beyond
the broken tips
of the mountain range
stained red
from rivers of blood
flowing
into the valley
on the other side
the tall boughs
of the firs
like daggers
across the land
yellow
against the ebony spires
of stone
two
of the three moons
remain visible
through the violet
violent clouds
a lone light
flashes
bright white
to guide
the lonely wanderer
home