This is what I know:
even when towns are burning
firefighters need sleep. 

Orange embers rain down—
searing my hands
my eyes
my ears.

I’m running—
day and night—
it all follows:
masked men in unmarked uniforms 
tariffs eating mid-sized manufacturers alive
“quiet, piggy” labeled as transparency 

powder-blue stuffie spattered with mommy’s blood.

It doesn’t matter if you’re fire-blind
the voiceover decides facts
at full volume.

Lies hit truth—
iron striking flint— 
sparks set it all ablaze:
shared reality goes up
in a quiet conflagration. 

I try to still myself
but the floor is on fire
and everything behind me is ash.

You can’t save the forest
when all fronts are engulfed.
Some edges must be sacrificed.
Let the home I can’t save burn.

I dig my lines,
clear the scrubland,
save what I can.