Then They All Burned

It sinks down. Can you . . .
You can take something like this
But not this, later . . .

The light crawls along
The edge of the wildfire cliff
From this perspective,

Now the fires are gone,
So barely surviving pines
Look like a sad line

Of soldiers climbing
The thin, scorched crest to nothing
Much they know about . . .

You have. There were rules.
Seasons, time, syllable counts.