Charred carbon inkblots
rorschach the landscape,
edge the highways,
creep the forest floor.
Fire seethes in creek beds,
scalds mud-dust,
hisses grass black.
It scales trees, and
slap-crackles the sap.
On spark whipped wind,
fire bounds-- crown to crown to crown.
In muffled daylight,
choked still in smoke-shadow,
firefighters awed by flames,
stack their blacked hands
on top of helmets
on top of heads.
Then, they turn and run.
rorschach the landscape,
edge the highways,
creep the forest floor.
Fire seethes in creek beds,
scalds mud-dust,
hisses grass black.
It scales trees, and
slap-crackles the sap.
On spark whipped wind,
fire bounds-- crown to crown to crown.
In muffled daylight,
choked still in smoke-shadow,
firefighters awed by flames,
stack their blacked hands
on top of helmets
on top of heads.
Then, they turn and run.
River Elizabeth Hall is a writer, educator and a naturalist. Her poems and short fiction have recently appeared or are forthcoming in Cirque, Into the Void, Sunspot Lit, and Tinderbox among others. Twitter: @RiverEHall.