In a Wildfire
My day is the skyline
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and its clouds,
my night is
Its moon,
my home is
My nest
and the songs whistling
Among the canopy
So I fly
and try,
I try with a flutter
and a cry
and a fall into
the green,
the worms,
and the fronds—
Into me,
the soil sinks into
My pores and the weeds ensnare
My limbs
and my wings
but the yellow beams
twinkle at night and above
in a blink
of day they fade
and in the night
their show
lifts me
somehow
even though
I am the soil
and the weeds
and the worms
and my day
is the stems
and the buds
and the beacons of
the swarming lights—
that coast so high,
and so far,
so I pull myself
up into a stand
that shows me
That I
Am standing
In a wildfire.
