NaPoWriMo: Day twenty one

They lit cigarettes like signal fires

I do not know what they were calling out for

But what I do know

What I did see

When the smoke of the fires

Plumed and billowed  like a great bird

The ghosts of the city held hands in the smell of burnt cedar

And told each other secrets.

There are secrets in this air

So thick you can almost taste them

The sky is the most beautiful shade of blue and diluted gold

The moon is a sickle

Harvesting starlight

Into a big sack

The buildings are just windows

That is all

Squares of glass floating like doors to heaven

There are so many!

All are heaven.

Between the smoke and the sickle moon

Every word hanging in the air is harvested

As the passing cars move by

Sets of headlights and radio noises merging into traffic

But here

Among the trees and the grass

That sprang like a home

For inner city frisbees and barbeques  and ghost stories


How ever many worlds there may be

Have all found a piece of whatever they were looking for.


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