There are too many words in English (for me, at least) for what a fire does. None of them tell me what a fire is - for that, i suppose all you need are images and memories and eyes.
And there is no point (for anybody at all) trying to describe what a fire looks like. No point in charcoal imagery and allusions to hell and poems with holes in them. Because that’s all a fire leaves behind. Charcoal and what feels like hell. This poem would have holes anyway.
But there is always a reason to fill these holes with words. Why is it there are always words when there are holes? Oh, why are there words? Yes, words are human but god, so are the holes, those between the spidery embers that we dare to call trees. (which are human too.)
And since I’m also made of holes and words and dying embers I (instead) focus on those holes between trees and think that wood is not really food for fire and realize that this wasn’t supposed to be about me and pretend that I am not at a loss,
I've never seen the recent fires in the Pacific Northwest in person. But that's not important, because now all I hear about and smell in the air and feel - is fire.