Wildfire

Arizona,

Your sky is afire.

Not in sunset

Rather,

Panic.

The winds shift.

Clouds of pink rise in evening fall,

Smoke

A wall around the horizon,

Penning in the stars,

Driving the moon to hide

Only at the corners of the sky

She is orange with worry.

Overlooking,

Houses as they empty,

Hearts full of fear.

The air smells of camp fire,

Smells of danger.

Each morning,

Waking with plumes of grey.

Tomorrow, let there be rain.