Wildfire

smoke curls through the air between us,
illuminated by rays of light.
you are shrouded and blurred from view.

they say where there is smoke,
there is fire.

a billowing haze blows across the late summer moon:
muting the reflection of crackling reds and oranges
as a wildfire roars through the mountains.

where there is smoke,
there is fire.

i search out the river of your eyes,
will i see on the edges the flickering of flames?
or have they been buried by the smoldering cinders?

where there is smoke,
there is fire.

i wonder if you will ever let me be the hot wind,
whose breath flows down through the valleys
to blow away the suffocating smoke and carry the flames ever higher.

where there is smoke,
let us be the fire.