Fireweed

I want to be your fireweed:

the first thing that grows

after the fire roars and the smoke rolls

into our lungs but —

you and me.

Were we meant to be?

I want to be your mountain peak:

first sight of the morning —

glistening, covered in the snow

but miles away so...

What’ll it be?

Will you come looking for me?

Salt air brings back the memories:

I kiss you when the wind blows,

whether you’re hiking through the trees

or stepping out of your home.

Go be free —

give this lost love to the sea.