burned letter

burned letter

I will take five words from my lips and write you a letter. I’ll put it in a mail box this afternoon, or, instead, drop it in a fire on a rainy day.

there’s not much of a flame

when smoke mixed with water,

unlike fog,  it is more like patches of shadows,

the memory of a tree, grown on the cemetery ground:

roots wrapped around bones, memories entwined.

…cat’s eyes glisten, green at night,

like Colombian  emeralds…

smoke, like snakes,  slither low, mixing with mud,

hiding in the grass.

the touch of brass on the slope of a  hill, sun’s finest kiss,

mark of the higher ground,

a new grave for the memories and rain

and for the smoke to rise

c: Nina K Orlovskaya 6/20/2012