I sometimes imagine there is a fire
A fire in my house
A fire in my street, my city, my world
I wonder how long it will burn
What places will remain untouched
If the soot will stain the clouds
A storm always waiting on the horizon.
When through all the smoke the sun bleeds red
But the earth remains in shadow,
I look for those rare bright faces
Not painted black or smudged with grey,
And wait in silence for the ash to settle
For the wind to release its breath
A gust of air in a stifling hot summer daze.