sliding down the hill
into the lapping soup
of a smokey morning
I should have guessed
from the pink cloud
at dawn with the sun obliquely
sending semaphore
fire advice
watch and act
I will still be down at the beach
at dusk
to see the light hitting
ashy remnants
where every thing lost
becomes airborne
sifting particulate
with all their former colours
released into the sky
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