We have these fires and smoke in the air
consuming the wildflowers
the piñon the juniper the Douglas fir
the quaking aspen the bristlecone pine
hours north of the city
the fields of wonder in the land of enchantment
Once in the rain between volcanic eruptions
there was a woman and her cello
music winding through the air
from a picnic shelter
later we were together again
writing with the women of the island
Someone asked her about her notebook
that place where she kept her words
a flimsy drugstore pad you might use for your grocery list
I don’t want these things to be too precious
she said
Thinking of her cello just out of the rain
the fires eating up ancient trees and fresh spring flowers
elsewhere seeing tattered plastic tents
piles of stuff looking like your discards
there at open land by city intersections
“the office” where the dispossessed stand with cardboard signs
all that we cannot hold onto
what is clung to when there is nearly nothing left
#NaPoWriMo
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