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May 7, 2023

Smoke Rising To The Moon

shadows bobbing and weaving
a 12 round championship bout

heavyweight champion trees

shadow boxing with the woodpile by the door; 

on the outside walls of the cabin; 

and the blood leaf splattered red and brown ground

a dog in the distance makes his presence known

—hope the bears leave him alone 

the sun out but not giving the usual warm embrace 

but only an indifferent glance 

got my hoodies hood up

not cold old boy, refreshing 

hands in pockets looking at the woods

at twisted arthritic limbs

just fallen branches and sweet natural peace

walking with every sound

a symphony of musical nature 

no more indians no more daniel boone 

will build a fire soon

with smoke rising to the my friend the moon

who is back for a return visit tonight 

sometimes he leaves for two weeks 

never saying where he’s going

he doesn’t answer to anyone 

and never says sir to anyone 

he’s in nobody’s pocket

except maybe answering to the universe 

from time to time and now the time is here

stars twinkle and wolves howl

fire crackling and planes passing in the dark sky