Call For Help

I’ll make it tall

Enough to merge with cloud;

The bonfire’s billowing plume.


It soaks into cloth and flesh,

Sends flakes of fine carbon

Skyward searching for a face

To land on.


Would that one finds yours,

Ash marking you softly

in gray-white

Smudges on your forehead


Because you were looking up

And saw my message. I hope

To see your reply borne on the wind

‘Ere the sky fades and another night

Consumes the wood and fire and smoke

And vanishes hope

Of rescue.



I’ve always thought that it is better to put your work out there and release it (and yourself) from the endless cycle of revision and second-guessing. This poem is one such piece that I finally decided to just let go of and see where it went. Maybe the wind will take it somewhere unexpected.


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