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
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
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.