Saffron

by Don Thompson

Smoke from distant wildfires
creates the illusion of clouds—
of faux cumulonimbus
offering rain like those promises of peace
that no one falls for.

And behind its pall this morning,
the sun glows almost saffron
as if to honor a self-immolated monk
who died for
some long forgotten lost cause.

The fires will keep burning for miles,
for days; and years from now,
driving by, we’ll see snags
like blackened skeletons
still standing upright in the new growth.