Pipe

From up on the porch I puff a pipe,

Listening.

The wind chimes next-door reflect on the night,

The yellow light

across the street, casts all in contrast

And silence.

My restless rocking,

My fear,

My dread of facing you…

A burnt offering of my autonomy,

The smoke lifts to heaven—no, dissipates in the breeze.

And there its smell finds you.

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