California, 2020
North, South, and Central,
wildfires under a quarter moon
threaten the entire state.
The fire moon looks down on them
red as it rises into the night.
The Devil, I think,
grins there tonight
as I walk along the street,
avoiding late-summer heat and smoke–
the evil orange
of day-time skies.
Still, the drift of fine gray ash
from fires burning miles away,
floats over hillsides and peaks,
up canyons, under rocky cliffs,
across the flatland grasses,
blowing toward and away
from homes and streets,
wherever the winds direct.
Incandescent energy rises
out of drought and heat.
The fire-moon soars,
above it all
shedding its ruddy light
bringing fear for all to see
when they look up
awaiting a new dawn’s break.