Flames, like individuals, flickered, crowned
the hills. A new civilization, I took their census
and my eyes wished, as the stampede
roiled in wait, to unfold–to see the birthplace
of ash, its unifying intimate process.
The crackling clung still, only to the comfort
of the hills. If, instead, the cascade’s cavalry
trampled our homes, would the flames leave
me, a seed, unburdened?
Nuptials nourished in the wake.
Georg Sperle is a poet from the PNW. He, his fiancée, and two cats live in Portland where he received his MFA in Creative Writing from Portland State University. @georgsperle on Twitter