When your heart is on fire smoke gets in your eyes
Death rolls in, a thousand acres, flaming,
thick smoke drifting south.
We are blinded by the slow burn of a million lies.
Nothing trickles down.
The poor belong among us.
And we are among ourselves on a finite planet
on an infinite journey with a wee small chance
of getting it right.
Love is right. Violence is not.
The greater good is an apple tree the voles left alone
because we pulled the mulch away from the trunk.
Sometimes, winter should not be diminished.
What comes to everyone over time
are thirteen birds, four horsemen,
and an appetite for sweets and salt.
The indulgences and the seven deadly sins
are always calling. Try not to answer.
Stare down, instead
and watch where you place each foot.
Wish each other well.
We are stardust and ashes,
and we neither live nor die
without fire.
Short visits with an honest God 