The Great Fire of 1911; When it came Many fled to the mines, Most took to the lake. Behind me that historic "they" nurture the regions greenest lawn, And I stand at the precipice where birches and pines open like theatre drapes to reveal the imprint of their panicked finger-curls, truncated breaths, upon each of the Porcupine's endless ghastly crests. They could not have known this twig would sprout belated from their ashes And pay peculiar homage that I am allowed their company. Here at Dead Man's Point I used to cast for pike. Here I witnessed the planets allign with young friends and contraband. Here I sought and found the ruins of my shipwreck when I was finally (un)grounded. I walk this earth in loving fear But, when I rest let it be here.