Cities burning.

An ash-filled river.

A few humans

like vessels washed in milk

pole boats

through the river’s sludge,

careful not to touch

the water.

A woman who fed us

reduced to salt and tar.

My mother

held me to the ground,

body like a roof.

She whispered an elegy

to her fur

as it burned.

I saw the pink of dusk

on the ground

as she sheltered me.

No screens.

No buildings

No cars.

Static left the air.

As we once did

we do so again

scratching images

on the bark of trees.