when the sun was orange through white sky
we went looking for the lines I wrote
cast in concrete along the newly opened
light rail line that August when summer
still seemed benign, heat haze was just haze
not whole forests on fire somewhere just
over the horizon, not ash falling like frost,
we hadn’t seen fire pour over the passes
nor the Alps, the Arctic, both bare-naked
where there should be ice; I want to say
we were more innocent then but the truth is
we may never have been innocent and
ignorance is a poor substitute.
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
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