the bloodshot eye known as the Sun looks down with contempt pity indifference the smoke an acrid curtain between each person and every thing you’re not sure if you’re still dreaming

you hope it is a dream maybe the fires aren’t real either way, you p r a y for something to change but every time you pray, the smoke loiters longer

it’s not distance, it’s just separation it’s not hell, it’s just purgatory not a reaction, just a consequence not a punishment, just an admonition

inspired by: being stuck inside while wildfire smoke is poisoning the air