The birds inside the airport
Flying at the windows, trapped,
Starving for sky.
The ruined marriage,
Stained and crumpled, shoved
To the darkness at the back
Of the drawer you won’t open
Because there are all those sharp edges.
The way that every year
It’s the same dreary gray rain
That cracks open the world
Till it blossoms.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 