In the Path of Smoke

August, season of still sun, searing heat,
wrapped in whirl of raging flame;
smoke swirling through the parched atmosphere,
from north and western violence it came.

The timbers cracked with torrid vehemence,
pouring forth their black and acrid smoke,
and, west to east, in eye-smarting sense,
the hazy, dimmed glow of the morning broke.

Persistent air brings pungent, smarting fumes;
reports hopefully predict receding.
A few more days of stinging haze,
into a colorful blur conceding.

We mourn for neighbors west and north
seared by drying sun and flame,
and pray the moistening showers come forth,
and glad welcome relief can claim.

What with pandemic to do battle'
upcoming evictions, some to bear,
in the disastrous fate of fellow citizens,
we can pray for relief from their despair.