Smudged with Grey

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.