Old friend and fellow poet Joseph Gallo writes of a long dark night of survival in the face of the Gap Fire, on Yarblehead.

Facing the flames, I have no idea what I would try to save. But I must say that Joseph has admirably more apparent respect for his creative work product that I have for mine. I think I would be more concerned for things I have inherited from others.

That their ancestral contributions to the product of human presence in our transitory realm has ceased, but that my own effluent might continue for a time, despite any covenant to that effect, is my point.