S. Qiouyi Lu
dust billows and gallops on the horizon,
gulps down sunlight, douses this red planet redder—
(fourteen/fifteen/I'm trapped on the 5 north
wildfires rampage ahead, erupt into ash, and the sun
streams orange. I roll down the window. smoke
infiltrates my nostrils, clings to my tongue.)
the storm drenches us in bloodlight.
c'mon, we have to get inside—I run after her, taste
odorless, filtered air, grit between my teeth—
for just one moment, I miss home.