Postdiluvian Blues

On days when clouds press down
and mist ascends to meet them,
all the world’s a vapor,
          it’s Tohu va-Vohu all over again.

Silence smothers the globe until
a tiny explosion screams
and a red-flame flares,
          a light-house flickers in the darkness.

Briar-bound leaves writhe
then settle down gray and ashy,
smoke drifts into the fog
          lolling, lingering, languishing.

How the smoke lingers, lingers, and lingers—
defying time, filling space,
with no regard for gravity,
          a dove with no place to land.

This poem was first published by Ekstasis.