LAKE AVENUE SMOKESTACK TO HEAVEN

A thousand miles upstream,

where things are finally green—

where the sun is so close,

yet so cold.

Like the top of Lake Avenue

on an evening Harley ride,

looking back at Altadena

after pulling off to the side.

Fog came down like a holy mist

and greyed out the sky,

but the roads twinkled through

like silver rivers binding

our city to the stars.

A stairway to heaven

for those houses that flew away

as columns of toxic smoke

when we wanted them to stay.

The land’s beauty inseparable

from its ability to burn.

And the greener it gets

the sooner is its turn. 

Because the weeds catch the spark

always in November

a new seasonal arc

blending when remembered.