Banff, Labour Day, 2003

All morning the air has tasted of smoke,
noses and eyes burning with the memory
of campfires, bonfires, scorched pine.
Weakened light stretches through
the haze and onto the streets,
illuminates particles and acrid breath.
In the valley, tendrils of smoke wind
along the river, curl around the mountains,
cloak firs and spruce with charcoal scarves.

Soon the sky is enkindled, alight
with the orange glow of distant forest fires.
Smoke slithers across the sky,
inches a caustic veil over the sun,
asphyxiating the light into
a smothered red orb.