Jonas Jordan, Army Corps of Engineers, "An oilfield on fire," uploaded 2007
A soft metallic sky, the color of magnesium; the fire-starter I once carried in my pocket.
A sharp ridge on Wy’east pares a curl from a low cloud scudding by, then scrapes another. Will they pile up and catch, I wonder. It’s dry to the east; they just need one spark to flare.
Deep deep down, below the green skin on which everything that we love lives, there’s a lake made of fire. A crack in its surface, and we burn too. On that day, a nacreous sky will weep soot made from calcined bones, from alder ash and fir char, from all our arguments and our leave-takings, our hate.
Something new will swim up from dark ponds, after. Will it glisten in the sunlight, as you, my love, did?