To the cheatgrass,
that grows & dries fast,
& fuels wildfire.
Scent of sun-baked pinecones
To the ferns coming after a burn,
who love the stripped,
Whiff of summer-hot loam
Smell the refrain of the last blazes—
both the ones who helped the land burn
& the ones who helped the land after.
Damp smell of duality
Stand still long enough
& wear the perfume of future fires––
the sad & the necessary.
Scorch of life, searing
Catch the sweet reek of seeds
waiting in cones & those
who know how to start a new world.
Sing the balm of all that dies to live