(On the fires in Washington, August 2015)
They are burning, it seems, everywhere.
The smoke becomes an oppressive screen.
Houses vanish, sacrificial food
To a merciless force, fed by air.
But by many they remain unseen,
Only revealed by the brittle smell,
Opaque haze, and pictures, black and red,
And the news of deaths, the charcoal miles,
Tracked by men making their way through hell.
Weeks pass, and destruction rears her head,
Gathers her booty, souls of despair,
While some lift their voices in a prayer.
by Sophie Saurette