Smoke Plumes

Getting older, you have to choke upon yourself

a little bit. The rain comes & the creek floods & suddenly you--

a river. Raging. Here, the beds where once your hands

were so gentle. Here, the evacuation order

to the residents. Here, the ones that sit on their porches

and watch, wait

anyways. Crack open beers and pour white wine

over ice cubes.

The rain comes & so does the lightning & in the midst of summer--

brushfires. Ash the landscape like a cigarette. Smoke the whole valley.

You pray for your home harder in a fire than in any other

natural disaster,

we think. Smoke plumes turn the sunset pink

in the most sinister way. Two years ago they turned

the sun red on summer solstice. Divinity is always in the clouds.

Divinity is in natural disaster. It's the closest you stand to god,

sometimes.

(not always, please

remember, these

summer months

can just be ugly.)