when the smoke clears

[over the last few weeks the sunrise has been blood red because of the smoke from the fires]

The sun was clean as it rose this morning
in a ghastly clash of pink and orange.

When we turned our eyes away from the glare,
the windows of the city were reflecting its light,
as vivid and garish as the real thing.

There’s no escaping the new day.

And we wondered,
on the slow train ride in,
if it meant we could believe
it just might be alright.