You can smell fire, even from here
It even can be smelt on the other side of the bay.
While dreams and homes are burnt to smouldering rest
All hopes and well wishes, even the best, will be ashes too.
The fires that stain and burden the heavy air
Are results of an abhorrent sun and destitute care;
Only the people left will keep to the land, even as it abandons them.
Hills are always charcoaled when kept this way
The land itself knows the fierce winds and the suns ways
The stench of flames are always here
A reminder of what cannot be saved
Once we saw a koala, its skin barely held
Together by the crumbs of skin still left
its fur all lost to heat and natures theft.
We laid a bucket next to its head
Where it drank from its watery top
In the last moments of its life, it could drink what it could
Although koalas are not seen to drink
Nor notice a humans hand
It seemed to thank us, in its unnatural embarrassment
Then died when the smell came back.