Above a canopy of smoke

The ailing summer burns

Too quickly forgotten

In the valleys below

–

The passing city glowers

In a shade of orange,

In the wind-fueled storm

Beyond the windshield glass

–

And the people float along

Through their own storms of fire

Beneath another clouded sky

On a Tuesday morning

–

And the people move along

With fearless humor

Trudging over the ashes,

From a full parking lot