Her ghost comes around. Makes small popping sounds. Her death, ricochet of many questions. Around us, landscape on fire. I add the Bible to the box in the back of my car, early plans for potential evacuation. Scripted inside, tree limbs of births and deaths. Those relatives I remember yet the milestones harder to conjure. We were married in the year of our daughter’s birth. Hammock between occurrences. Ledger of access for those left behind.