The dragon morning broke in glow
of tangerine and tongues, in flares
ensnaring trees with scorch and woe.
We barely saw the smoke for air
as clear as lies before the woods
were blazed to ash the dawn was rare
with beauty, then, when all was good
before the flames had raged the streets
and we had done the things we could.
And afterwards we’re cold, when heat
is gone and memories are lost
to bitter taste in life’s defeat.
This glow made me think of the wildfires… for Margaret at toads.
December 27, 2018