deserted as we are by the fire tenders
we wake from sour dreams marching
with schools of salmon and ghosts of murdered trees

the wind, if it moves a kiss or two in any direction
kicks up abandoned nostalgias
townie boys in their daddys’ trucks play chicken

at the railroad crossing, gunning dry engines
kicking up saw dust that bring on the rain
just enough to scratch the thirst, keep the flames

breathing bright