SLOW BURN

7:40 p.m. PDT, September 23, 2014

A little hair here and there
burns across the canyon,
a darkening charred shadow

rising in a wake of even light,
summer days and nights
behind us, behind the ridge

that stands between us
and Antelope Valley, Wuknaw
spilling into the fringed

and frayed urgency beyond.
We have a glass, of course,
discussing cattle—instead of

people—measure likelihoods
for feed and water ready
with another plan, if need be.

Light a cigarette, fill another
glass reflecting decades
of canyons worn upon our faces.