Moon Smoke

We are all getting to know moon smoke,

becoming familiar with heartbreak. 


There are days when vata windswept Sunday 

creates momentary break 

in a choked skyline lethargy.

And we remember what it feels like being able

to breathe. 

To see with clarity and hope.

But, momentary reprieve may just be 

a curve on this sin line of grief. 


I am trying not to care, 

about you. 


Some days I am laden heavy with the wait of ash,

and anger.

Some days I am at peace 

in the surrender.

I am trying to know this lonely, 

sacred part of myself.


I am trying to let my heartbreak

    tie me to the earth,

let my loneliness take me to my knees,

let the magenta sky take my breath away.

Feel the pain of knowing - 

that the beauty of such a brilliant twilight,

vibrant red moonsmoke, smoke moon,

is the product of somewhere a forest on fire. 


    What is loss? 

    What is lonely, heartbroken – rage?

    What is deep hunger? 


Is there a permanence and agriculture, 

that can return life to soil,

breath to sky scape,

and regenerate our souls 

so, we crave 

       for simplicity 

and not out of greed? 

Where abundance is measured in kindness - 

in humility spilling over the edges of our hearts, 

and soul beating so loudly 

we take a moment to sit down 

and listen to the silence of the night?