there was something about the fire

how it erupted in great cartwheels

of smoke, and flames became comets

twisting over the roofless night

–

in dreams I remember gray

ceiling stretched between

far-off mountains standing

on a slate tallon of sea

–

what was was holding it up

then, the age-darkened

trees when we still could

touch the catastrophe

–

But I’m not afraid of heights anymore.

The inertia of the moment

holds me in place

as the world sweeps through like wind

chimes disturbed by memory.

–

The clouds are busy gathering

rain. They still blushed when the sun

rose to its feet, dusted off worn

birchbark sandals, and began

to walk across the morning.

–

I collect the footprints

left behind where golden dragonflies

stir in a sun-smoked ash field

dreaming in the faded colors of late July

–

this standing Now catches up to me

here as I rest beside the fireweed

and bellows:

–

it’s here!

it’s all here!

Brought to you by Island Verse Literary Collective.

Learn more at islandverse.org