L'aura del Campo

Smoke (Dew Drop Inn #10) [25]

Smoke

It always begins with fire:
a controlled burn, a lightning strike, one lit cigarette;
then spreads, fueled by dry tinder, embers lifting,
creating its own wind.
Skies redden at sunset; the horizon blurs;
then the pall that moonlight can't pierce,
that the dawn merely lightens to a brighter shade of grey.
The tongue tastes like ash; the nostrils smell it;
the throat chokes... then gasps.
And the calm,
the calm of it all,
the silence of ashflakes falling like snow
before one final thought,
will I ever be able to breathe again.

© Kåre Enga [174.25] (9.april.2017)

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