4 December 2009, by pd lyons

and would I know

the winter

still sliding down

silvering the window

soft whispers

smoke secrets


the kitchen fire

and all those winter fires gone before


each ghost upon the gale

welcomed here beside the hearth

each breath of my own

rare and gifted by such drifters

visible only in the smoke

audible only in the flame

I am never alone in winter


I am sending my own messages

tobaccos scented

whiskey scented

seemingly pleasing

soon like crows

I will go



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