Smoke

it’s far too simple-
these old men send the sons of
others to their deaths
–
a spring breeze-
the fog of war
swept out to sea

wolves of stone and snow
insubstantial in the light
of the forest moon
–
rising embers-
mournful howling
in the distance

muscle and sinew-
soot stained and glistening from
the heat of the forge
–
shimmering heat-
the cold ring of
hammer on steel

telling ghost stories-
embers on the rising smoke
mixing with the stars
–
distant howls-
another log
feeds the fire

sedona night skies-
a desert scorpion crawls
across my bedroll
–
campfire-
embers rise to greet
the desert stars

well after midnight
christmas eve fire in the hearth
burning down to ash
–
a warm hearth-
ashes mix with
the falling snow

crimson veins of ink
bleed into the blotter from
my old fountain pen
–
guttering flames-
reams of paper
absorb my words

black potbellied stove-
the evening’s load of firewood
stacked up along side
–
stars in the sand-
our fire stoked
by the ocean breeze

whispers of thunder
dry lightning in distant hills
the rain long absent
–
autumn hills-
ashes rain
on the valley

gauzy hardwood smoke
rises into the night air
obscuring the moon
–
drifting embers-
folding chairs
around the fire