The land burns so hot and high tonight that Let can see its orange glow even from the heart of The City of Birds. It burns so thick she can taste the whole year’s growth of leaves and branches on her lips. It burns so fast she can almost hear the deer and cottontails scream as flames outrun them and devour them whole.

I writhe in bed with fever, chills, chatters and shivers. The near becomes far as the far comes close.

No one gets married before going to space.