A slow rise
First a curious fade,
Lifted over the city;
A foreboding front of ash and brume.
“Burnaby Mountain is on fire!”
One woman exclaimed,
“The mountain is ablaze,
And Kelowna, too!”
I stifled a retort
And took her order
“A glass of rosé”
The rain ceased for days,
Choking the city sober
We swallowed campfires with our coffee;
Wildfire with our wine.
Entire mountains were washed away by a sky
That eventually eluded us all.
Cigarettes remained ruthless,
Spineless mothers of smoke and hell-fire
Meanwhile, under a bed-cover of oblivion,
Juno duped the Sun, exchanging her for Mars
Cut in half every night at nine forty-five.
In time, the fog casually dissipated
Leaving the horizon painted lazily
With fat brush strokes of indistinct grey.
The Sun, content with her new name
Glowed blood-orange, brilliant and burning
A perfect circle.
A cool rain came down.