You said bad men waited inside
your mouth, which meant a fire

was catching. We drove toward
a cloud of smoke that rose above

the city. In the mirror, I saw
the wide belt strapped across

your chest, and on the radio,
men stormed the gates

in another country. I do
love you, you said, looking out.

The window held the sun
flatly. I held my breath. The brush

had not been cleared in weeks,
and the mountain prepared to burn.