Another weekend at the lake
ends. Laden with leftovers or hangovers,
packed up, sleep deprived,
we launch a return to the daily.
Daily looks dusty and quiet and less—
less frenetic, less enormous
less thick with the weight of lists
Remember the moon Saturday night
so huge and orange on the ground
we didn’t even recognize her?
Now the quiet is softer
the weight and beauty of our burdens rising
from laughter and talk, from listening and
listening and being listened to
Puff Of Smoke Poems 