Spellbound

A dentist’s foyer, lacking magazines
to soothe impatience. Bored, I eye askance
the muted television. A casual glance
at scrolling newscasts on a silent screen—
in wobbling hand-held frames of dreadful light
figures drag a hose, steer their machine
to spray a fan of water, fragile stream.
Soundless terror stalks the burning night.

Exploding trees surround the struggling crew
with lethal brilliance. There’s no way through.
The blinding light has jumped the firebreak.
This firestorm’s hypnotic cobra dance
still holds me swaying in its fatal trance.
I am frozen, cannot move or speak.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside