The old man's breath
tears russet leaves
from ragged books.

Violas sway
and hum
in the face
of brumal winds.

Dripping fire,
the oak's toes
are nibbled
by rimy teeth.

I catch a glimpse of flames
Submerged in the swallowing smoke
Stare as it burns in the distance
Full of radiance and life, yet slowly dying
Light increasing, in its path diminishing
The depth of the valley, the vibrancy of color
Where is the point of ignition?
It spreads across the horizon:
milky clouds of white
earthy transparent brown
deep violet filling the air
The sun setting behind the tragedy,
forming brilliant, engulfing layers:
scarlet transfers into a peachy blush pink
Mountains blue as Washington’s Pacific Ocean
Sky breathing life to my favored colored pencil
Thin clouds lay as one with the atmosphere, each varying-
fluffy white into cotton candy pink
to an Easter bunny yellow
This is no dull view for the eyes
Nature, destructive while creating its signature on this piece of art
Engraving the masterpiece in my sights
Each flame once its own morphed into oneself, dramatically altering its appearance, its mass
A single flame has the ability to become a wildfire within an instant
Could I smolder a fire on my own?

Burnt leaves
Colors of decay
How slowly they fall
Skeletal trees sway
Each cobbled stone promise
Coated with glass
Rain spots and reflections
Eyes watch in love
For the new birth of season

When the sun rises, when the sun sets;
When the moon is full, when the sky is empty,
I think of you.
When I cross Eagle River or climb Mt. Baldy,
the sun splintering into pieces above the world,
I think of you.
I think of you in Germany or Alaska,
with friends or alone,
when happy or sad;
I miss you all the same.
One year, two years, three years...
Nothing and everything's changed.

Life is long.
Forgetting feels like a betrayal.