Forest Fire

The year moves on without you in it
 Now, it is fall without you
 I had to close the windows and doors without you coming through
 I kept them open for as long as I could, but the baby got cold
 I watched the calendar bulldoze
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 This whole past summer was a lingering heat wave
 And I remember late August, our open bedroom window
 Going through your things with the fan blowing
 And the sound of helicopters and the smell of smoke from the forest fire that was growing
 Billowing just on the edge of town where we used to swim
 They say a natural, cleansing devastation burning the understory, erasing trails
 There is no end
 But, when I'm kneeling in the heat throwing out your underwear, the devastation is not natural or good
 You do belong here
 I reject nature, I disagree
 In the hazy light of forest fire smoke, I looked across at the refineries and thought that the world was actually constantly ending
 And the smell and roar of the asphalt truck that was idling just out the window, tearing up our street
 I missed you, of course
 And I remember thinking the last time it rained here you were alive still
 And that this same long heat that I was in contained you
 And in this same heat, I open the window next to you on your last morning
 So you could breathe, and then so you could ghost away
 And now, so the room will hopefully stop whispering
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 The grind of time I'm not keeping up with
 The leaf on the ground pokes at my slumbering grief
 Walking around, severed, lumbering
 
 But slowly, sovereignty reasserts itself
 I don't want it though, and betrayal whines
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 Who and how could I live?