Picking Up Roots

Pausing

I fail to see
my surroundings,

I may catch a glimpse
of the surface
with a hurried eye
as I race to the next

but it is rare
that I pause
to look beneath

I miss so much

Wildfires

a ball of blurry orange
in a blank gray sky
that has not known
its calming blue
in too many days;

the air stinks of ash,
a harbinger
of a future
we continue
to ignore

Impossible Fire

a quick foray
into the teeth
of summer's oppressive blanket;

a calculated dance
from scorching sunlight
to refreshing shadows

whose steps
never let one linger
in one space

for it understands:
to bask
in the rays of the sun

is to welcome
an impossible fire
upon the skin;

in our hearts
none of us want
to get burned