Permeable

The air smells of smoke.
Wildfires,a day’s drive away
fill the air, block the mountains,
choke the lungs,
unintended consequences
of dry seasons, one after the other.

You have been impermeable,
but the tainted vapor has its way,
certain as sin. Today you wheeze
as you climb down the stairs,
as you fix the coffee.

It is hard to dream of love,
but as you leave the house to start your day,
love, romantic, spiritual, joyful, lasting
fills your mind as you wonder
just what kind of vapor love leaves
and whether, for those closest to you,
it is poison or perfume.

About this poem.

There are wildfires in Canada. I think too much about love. Romantic love. Love of God, family and the people around me. People whose love is broken. People who have been abandoned and find love a hard thing to let in. God’s love and how it underpins every good thing in my life. Love is always in the back of my mind somehow. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken during another time when wildfires filled the air. It happens way too often.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom