not orange not red /
just no sun at all /
(i think i see brighter sky to the east? /
but my eyes have deceived me before) /
a parting gift on my last day at home /
our black barbecue speckled grey with ash /
falling like snow, but too small, too sparse /
a spider web on a basketball hoop catches white flecks /
burnt redwood bark from not so far away /
though the domesticated redwoods here, around me in every direction, /
they look oddly, poignantly beautiful in this diffuse ecliptical light //
the street lights went on at 11am /
yellow sky jaundicing everything /
some headlights on, i imagine their drivers a little confused /
a little depressed /
but not surprised //
it's quiet /
still and eery /
the birds are there, a few at least /
but hushed /
maybe for them the dawn never ended //
i search for the sun /
i can't find it /
though i know where it should be /
a plane flies north descending /
it flits in and out of existence /
moving between rolling patches of yellow-grey fog and brown-orange smoke /
it fades ghostly transparent, then disappears from view /
its sound remains for half a minute then also fades /
a strange echo //
found the sun eventually /
it's pale orange, though the sky around it distinctly pink /
it seems weak /
in a moment it's gone again /
“until next we meet” //
i drive south tomorrow /
to breathe the smoke of different fires /
hopefully tempered at least a little by pacific air /
not as bad as these fires /
but how could they be /
those are desert fires /
dessicated jeffrey pines /
sagebrush and joshua trees /
not expecting to be burnt like this /
expectations lie /
still better than millennia old redwoods /
my what a guilty thought to think //
i refresh my various air quality websites /
bookmarked in a folder named “air“ /
i criticize my parents for their obsession /
i criticize myself /
the indices often don't agree /
i fall back to my monitor /
more cheap chinese electronics i didn't need /
i reload the maps /
decode the color bars /
i see the smoke moving south tomorrow /
i wonder if it's following me /
maybe if it is at least my parents will get a break /
but it doesn't look like they will /
the red particulate drifts with the wind, an uncontrolled hemorrhage /
what blade could make that wound /
(i know the answer) /
i hope the projections are conservative /
the sensors overcalibrated /
i know it makes no difference //
my lungs ache lower left /
or maybe that’s my heart /
i imagine burning blood /
contorted capillaries /
deflated alveoli /
filled with gunk /
my metaphors are a bit much /
calamity makes us all dramatic types /
at least those of us privileged to suffer mainly as spectators //
but it’s too much to imagine fleeing forest denizens /
hands gripping shirts to mouths /
poor makeshift substitutes for the masks they forgot /
or couldn’t find /
or thought they didn't need /
or were told were only for “those people” //
it was already too much to imagine /
coughing seniors and knee-necked young people /
115° air stinging throats /
there are many ways to deprive a pair of lungs /
as we all have learned /
and keep re-learning //
2020: the year of the lung /
the year of hungry diaphragms, /
arteries aching for oxygen, /
unsated air hunger, /
breaths not taken //
something’s slipping away as months pass /
fast looking forward /
slow looking back //
i should learn to cope /
but maybe not /
i go back and forth /
as with everything /
to adapt, or not to forget /
move on, or stop and stare /
somehow i think it’s less of a choice than i imagine /
usually it is //
i was so full of wisdom in the spring /
knowledge comes from hardship /
right? /
if you’re paying attention /
but at summer's end it's more muddled /
for now, just breathe the air you have /
you never know what fresh hell is on the horizon /
lungs crushed under fallen timber dislodged by an earthquake /
lungs iced out by unseasonable cold /
lungs infected by disease borne on a rushed vaccination /
lungs exhausted by pointless screaming at empowered cheats /
lungs with breath depleted by unceasing arguments or crying /
as it is, it’s hard to hold in mind the ones i know are happening /
maybe best not to even try /
they look different when held together /
and not in a truer way /
and it’s tiring //
breathe deep the sorrow-filled air /
while you can /
and hope that’s all it’s filled with ///