the lonelinss of the long distance smoker

to imagine,

to wait for you
in each drop of rain,
with each breath,
a hole in my stomach


until i will not know
what i waited for,
until i will have forgotten
even myself

to smoke long distance,
smoke drifting far,
i listen to my voice
rising out of dark

to leave
with the smoke,
and i am like smoke
now

to drift between
widely spread fingers
like sand , like water
to be lost in the void

there are hours like this,
empty, only the
smoke of memories
drumming in the ears

days to fill with light,
to prepare for wonder,
to look at old trees
shaking off the wind


they remain firmly
rooted in presence,
silent witnesses,
they are and grow

to imagine,
to be wounded by longing
and to be healed by being:
i tell the wind