Author Archives: Puff Of Smoke Poems

The fugitive snow hides out
at the edge of the field
where scrub brush becomes forest
The last of the snow
shelters in the cool shade
a slender shadow of its former self
while we, in shorts tee shirts flip-flops
bask in brightness
hiding from nothing
waving goodbye

dusty and rumpled
winter weary we emerge
waving to the sun

like the flowers who
will surely follow, we stretch
our whole bodies up

april showers may
bring flowers but april’s bags
are overflowing

dropping bits of green
occasional crocuses,
small bewildered birds

Rain falls on the roof
Longs for nothing
Does not dream of
How cozy it sounds
On the roof of a home
Does not shake off
How bleak it echoes
On office roof, on warehouse,
On thick brick school
Or highway underpass

Rain falls on the roof
Longs for nothing
Except to keep falling
Doing its work in this world
Not dreaming how it sounds
Like poems on the ceiling
Or how it washes the world
Till it greens

Twenty-six years
is a long time
to do anything
and so I didn’t.
Packed Away
is the label
on this box
of memories—
good ones
old and faded
buried beneath
the sharper days
swimming in
that box of sharks
glad the strong tape
mostly
holds this carton closed

Sometimes it’s a tiny poem
One seashell from the jar of many
Sometimes it’s the size of
One whole ocean.
The trick is always the same—
Hold your breath. Plunge in.
Jump with this whole resisting body.
Swim. Don’t drown. Better yet,
Float on your back.
Look at the sun
Through the clouds

remember how to
eat breakfast alone
one small bowl
of strawberries
after you’ve gone
eaten while picturing
your late night arrival
at the other end of
this wide map

Your local branch
Blooms once a season
with warm weather terms
great rates right here
where you’ve built all
this equity

because
this season can’t be bought
your local branch
oh you remember
where it is
leafing out
thick with possibility

your local branch, the one
that in the lucky years
blooms along with the
world you’ve waited through
and waded through
for all this long winter

On sale now, for a limited time,
This Spring can all be yours

All our ghosts are there
Forever on the other side
doing what ghosts do
knocking or moaning,
chain rattling,
or waiting nearly mute
nearly helpless to applaud
or warn managing nothing more
than a smile, a raised eyebrow at
our triumphant entrances
our many follies
the ghosts I like best
are the ones minding their own
business sipping tea, reading,
or napping beneath a coverlet of flowers
biding the time
on their side of the door.

Face down
Is how I place
A book after
Reading.
It doesn’t matter
What book.
Any book.
I am searching
(quietly and always)

For you, and this
Is our secret signal
Like a tiny flag waving
Or the ear always listening
For the soft buttery accent
Of home. I recognize you
When you tilt
Your head sideways
To read the title
Imprinted on my spine.