Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Not Smoke

Not Smoke

Dingy clouds lifting
from the green fields,

right away, I look for
fire, not for the truck

kicking up dust,
leaving this place.

What should I expect
from the land, watching

the fields, the ponds
like rained-in giant’s

footprints, the trees
playing statue.

Even if you have
a staring contest

with the moon, you
won’t see it moving,

won’t see morning coming.
Gazing at the picturesque

will always hurt you
if you’re doing it right.


  1. Oh, that ending gets me. Just right.

  2. It's nice to check back in with things and find ... a poem.


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