Smoke Signals - Mag 170

Ponytail by Last Exit

smoke signals

those early days burnt hot

smouldering experiences

that we banked like coals

saving the memories
grey tendrils curling

upward to scent the air

until we needed warmth

then we each found

coals that glowed

yours in your eyes

mine in my fingertips

just enough heat

to start a fire 

wisps of smoke

from seasoned wood

and then a flame

a fire worthy of

december’s chill

This poem is shared with the writers who contribute to Tess Kinkaid's weekly writing circle called 

The Mag - to see what others have given this week, click the link and read on ... perhaps you will be inspired to join in.