Only the fires say is a visual poem compiled from a personal archive of photographs taken between 2006 and 2016.
Armed with a pitchfork, the lower part of his face covered in a bandana, the man hopped around the flames, keeping a close watch on their advance. Perhaps my view was askew, but at times he almost seemed to be walking in them. Apparently, he knew his fires. My legs ached from my wanderings. I still had time to kill before my flight to the East. I sat down on the bank, not far from the man’s partner. She caressed her round belly and watched him with a faint smile on her lips. A cool breeze tempered the sun’s blaze. Summer was nearing an end. The shadows of the smoke passed over us. How long had the woman been staring at me? “Our house burnt down last year“, she said. “Fires can hate. You have to learn to love them a little.“