Our primal memories shimmer
with the red of the first fire,
our pride in making heat and light.
We sheltered it and worshipped it,
built our homes around the hearth,
carried it with us to new lands.
But awe became obsession
as we sought out hotter fire
and better tools for making heat and light.
Now endless burning forests
fill the air with clouds of smoke
and the cries of dying animals
hang in the orange skies.
Previously published in Green Ink Poetry Pyres edition.