FIRST FIRE

When I came back after the fires

I found three olive leaves

burned black

on my doorstep

that I picked up

before I walked inside

and kissed the floor

and then the walls

every morning

for a while

until I forgot

how for three days

the fire had been my whole world—

watching the forecasted wind

blowing twenty miles per hour

from the north

and the satellite footage

of the active front burning

three miles north of the land I live on—

with the ash rain and smoke

still in my body

from when I packed the car

while the Sun was hanging

blood-red in the Western sky

and while I knew I should hurry

my limbs

could only move

very slowly

but my body

was doing her best

and remarkably

was able to bow

and kiss the wooden floor

when we returned home.