4-30-17


woodsmoke smells of home

when the clean-up leads

to brush burning

renewal and a fresh outlook

but it clings to your clothes

your hands and hair

you watch it trickle away

down the shower drain.

late at night dreams reveal 

tall flames, fire licking 

the ink black sky

while smoke stings the eyes

and obscures the countless stars.
© Erik Hansen 2017

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Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, outdoors, Poetry, Writing

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