Last year’s fire season
wasn’t the first time
I took my breath for granted.
I had been choked before,
by father and daddy alike.

My body memorizes
with appreciation.
This way of knowing a matrix,
a structural ethic.

As fire’s light establishes
rapidly diminishing distances,
tradition finds strength in time passing.

Our days are paced aggressive,
a seasonal norm. History is recorded
furiously as language reflects
fractured frontlines.

Be worried.
These western fires
will reach you,
soon.