Getting Carried to Bigelow Bay

Waiting for the rain to clear
The last patches of wildfires
Smoldering in Valhalla,

Watching wet braids course the street
Through the core of the village,
Old, brightly painted buildings

Glazed now--survived another
Wildfire season—there are posts,
Remainders of foundations

And loading docks in the bay,
Reminders even older
Buildings once lined the lakeshore,

But fires ate them long ago.
Everything you see is more
To the world than there once was

As well as less than there was.
No gaining without changing,
No changing without losing.