You are looking for words

the color of ash — erasure poem by drew myron

[ tunnel five fire ]

the forest is
the color of ash

fire blackened
the breeze

on a sweltering
july day, the air

might explode

The wildfire rages on. Wind quickens and smoke thickens. Despite five helicopters, four tankers, and hundreds of firefighters, the blaze sweeps through days.

Still, summer continues. The cool river fills with frolic. Workers toil. Tourists stroll. Vacation rolls on. How could it not? How could it still?

This is the era of disassociation. We look away and beyond. Our survival skills are now so honed we can distance every discomfort that is not our own. In this age of both fortune and futility, how do we balance head, heart and happenings?

I turn to the old answers: reading, writing, scratching. You are looking for words to sustain you, writes Joy Harjo, to counter despair.

Indeed.