Sight Spot

Come back to it. Might as well.
“Where else will you go?” asked Brown
As the fires burned his state down.

Mars? I laughed, but took his point.
Why run from those slopes in flames
If the sea boils? If the storms

Grow so large that the one calm
Place in the world is the eye,
Where was it you thought you’d hide?

Best if you don’t try to hide.
Come home, if you have a home.
If you don’t, sit tight. You won’t,

Of course. Our kind move. You’ll move.
One more thing to fear—the hordes
In search of a safe place, food.

For this day, I have no fear.
I come back to my sweet spot.
These woods have not burned down, yet,

Though they might. One day, they must.
Not yet. It’s a cool green site
In the pines by a clear stream.

I can’t stay here. I can’t stay
The night. But I love the sight
Of the small trout that hang out.