Puffing fire from air and heat from dark, willowed and bent –
We lost ourselves in the leaves, who were dried and crisp as offerings,
as the dirt of dust seeps gently overhead –
The waves are rippled with final thoughts and breaths that lost the count –
Puffing smoke from fire and heat in dark, bent willows hovering,
menace and touching tips too hot.
2010 Barry Comer