Poems & photographs by Lashaevia Burns
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grandma called me.
come quick.
look at the sky —
it’s like a fire.
I came outside
and looked up.
oh wow.
I didn’t have words.
just my phone —
capturing as fast as the sky was changing.
clouds shifting within seconds.
colors bleeding into each other.
red into purple.
purple into gold.
a different shade,
a different hue,
a different painting
every time I blinked.
A quiet collection of light, water, and open windows — photographs and the lines they came with.

The sky gave everything it hadin the last minute it had left.

Blue on one side, fire on the other —and me, still standing in between.

The street held the colorlong after the sky let it go.

Some evenings arrive like a promiseyou didn't know was still good.

Even the heaviest skykeeps a window open.

Not finished, not gone.Just almost.

I wrote the date downso I would believe it later.

A borrowed city,the same forgiving light.

String lights come onlike the ground answering back.

The whole day narrowedto one red line, then rest.
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