An envoy to the open fields

And the envoy runs, runs like dying through these burning fields; and the envoy is burning, cold but burning and; the world goes gray and I'll play my piano and wait until my envoy returns.


But still; although the fields are open the trees are now burning, set by the defenders and; envoy runs, runs, employs, no timeless horse.

They'll ask me how do I know, but I'll just, simply, complicatedly, stretch the sky in blue.