Canadian forest fires grayed the Kentucky sky
all day with smoke. I sat in my own small particles—
that is to say, we all have places we can no longer go. 
Smoke spread out from Quebec to the Low Country. 
I sent my smoke out the door after work. 
My smoke bought cigarettes and ate dinner,
where it formed to the shape of the room
like smoke does. Two gray cats slicked into the bushes
as my car pulled back home in to the parking lot,
exhaust fuming. I couldn’t tell if they were strays–
their mottled backs and their pink ears like blazons.
Then–poof!–they were gone into the afternoon like smoke.