Flowers after a wildfire - Sally Clark

There, look, see -

in the place where the wind

blew the brush fire through

the summer pasture burned

every blade of quiet grass, cremated

every ground-hugging insect, chased

every feral rabbit toward

the safety of the wet creek;

the wildflowers are blooming,

bright sky bluebonnets,

red-orange flames of Indian paintbrushes,

tiny yellow-sunned coreopsis, thicker here

than any part of the unscarred field,

a phoenix of color rising from the ashes,

a benediction rising from the flames.