Prayers like smoke

This morning’s sun, reflecting twice as red 

In my double-paned window, 

Warns of wildfires to the south and north, 

And smoke that makes it hard 

 For some to breathe. 

A look at Purple Air confirms 

That though we’re green, 

The sun’s red circles have multiplied 

Across this corner of the world:

 Prayers rise like smoke 

 For all of those who suffer.