Camp Fire California 2018

all the air isn’t air
ashes, dusty bones, charred remains
houses gone in flames
owners up with wind
Paradise lost

all the air isn’t air
hangs like fog, toxic smog
i can’t see the bridge, they say
san franciscans miles away
Paradise lost

all the air isn’t air
masks they wear masks
white covered faces after
the climate changed
Paradise lost

all the air isn’t air
endless clicking on screens
will the forecast change?
smoke only smoke
Paradise lost

When The Glass Water Bottle Spoke

I see all the plastic bottles filled and shiny,
pasted labels over clear water within. I’ve

never been jealous of that crinkle sound,
sad little ache after the last drop is gone.

Always wondered what disposable meant,
dented, crushed, twisted, one on top of the

next, in bins, trashcans, on streets. Others
tossed off boats, or tide taken away from sand

into sea. Gulped by curious pelicans hungry
for more than digestive death.

Me, I like lips that touch my rim again and
again, tender sips when I’m brimming with cool

life-giving liquid. But I’m a romantic, I believe
in everlasting love, that you will want me forever.