Sudden as thunder,
the mind shifts.
In the midst of perfect August,
instead of summer,
your head fills with February.
February deep with snow and
cozy as a children’s story.
Fire in the hearth, soft quilts,
stew simmering on the stove,
Mozart on the radio.
Tap the window of this scene
and the woman inside
will look up, into the middle distance
as if at nothing at all.
I know what she sees.
In her red sweater
and thick socks, as she stirs
she is picturing August
and both of us smile.
Puff Of Smoke Poems 