Ash

That east wind is brutal. Hot, dusty
reeking of smoke. Dead leaves
race along the westbound streets.
The tail end of summer is curled up
and burning in the hills. Sheets of smoke flap
across the sky. Pigeons rise
in short troubled arcs. Auguries are poor.
Pray for the firefighters. Pray for rain.
My skin is freckled with ash.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside