I wanted to dig it up, that war. Not just the fire but what made the fire. Not just the fire but the land. Wind rattles the leaves of the eucalyptus, piles of invisible, detached caps collecting amid sheaves of papery bark. A wind formed on the lee of Mount Saint Helena and shuttling toward the Pacific, picking up speed, airborne embers dropped like spores not far from my family. Not far from a dream, I watch as fires flower on an interactive map of the globe over the course of 20 years.