Dawson Creek

The sky is on fire
That late afternoon light swallows you whole
Burning up birch trees

In the sudden city they chase dogs down the cul de sac
Carving tunnels into snow, spies lost in nighttime suburbs
Forgetting their way home and all the reasons they should hurry.

In the morning I stand on the sidewalk
Cold, underestimated
Waiting for the fire to come again