I know what that is.
When it comes at me
Those memories of loss.
They rise
trying to take over my thoughts.
It is quiet now;
yet, there is an odor of solitude
That surrounds me
I can smell it
as I breathe the smoke perfumed dry air.
Harsh
Speechless.
My tongue sticks to the base of my mouth
My lips dry and chapped.
I am a book of snow
As I stand on the back porch
Cold
Staring over the snow covered rooftops.
Hoping I could spread my wings
And fly
Like an eagle
Once more
Fearless in fiery feathers,
who remains alone
Apart from its small fleeting life.
Smyon-Pa 