Layers of this Air

For good or ill, good poetry or bad poetry, the piece shared below is born of a single sensation, the scent of smoke. It tainted the air as I stepped into school at 5am this morning.

Image result for campfire smoke

Layers of this Air

Thin ribbons of smoke
insulate layers of this air,
humid, heavy on the morning,
pieces of moist cake.
Today, I’ll imagine a fire,
somewhere close,
warms the space
between trees, the craggy
skins of rock and stone,
and a troll that squats
within its glow
skinning captured conies
for the spit. Tonight,
after dark, when sleep
entices me to dream,
I’ll close my eyes,
join him for dinner,
and relish
the meats of tomfoolery.

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