Smoke Hole
a see you later
I’ve felt the overflow of poetry rising in me, but an equal need to hold on to most of it before bringing it out through the usual apertures. So, until there’s a change in the wind, or until the smoke becomes unbearable, I’ll be on retreat.
Smoke Hole
Sealing the smoke hole,
I deny myself the upward outlet.
No more acclimations
in black and white.
I sit before the hearth, goading
embers into a deeper red.
They flare up. I inhale their scent.
I’m alone – a storyteller, a fire-breather.
My nostrils burn with words.
I take my flint knife to the skin tent
cut a new way out.
The world is bright. The air, clear.
Alone, I begin to breathe again. 

We'll miss you. Enjoy the hiatus.
Breathe by all means and don't stay away too long!