Tonight, the story
sits alone
in the car.
It is not
anyone’s fault.
No fingers to point.
It likes being alone
with no other narrators
interrupting,
no breaks for beer commercials,
no subplots pushing their way in.
Alone, the story hardens,
the way river water freezes.
Though one force says go, go, go!
Keep going, keep going!—
another force proves stronger,
renders it set.
To say once upon
is not necessary.
The air all around the story
is softened by wildfire smoke.
The scent of the world
turning to ash
touches everything,
but the fire itself
is far away. No,
says the story
finding its pen,
this is not
the end
not yet.