SMOKE

The smoke from the brickwork chimneys
Forms a trail upriver
To the clouds
I look for long pointy fossils of walnut shell
Along the bed of white shale
Stretching pale from the brickworks' edge
I take the footprints of ancient beasts
From under the thinly clouded grumbling water
I have spent every afternoon after practice
Spanning two summers
Having a delightful time with my pupils
Yet now the mountains are dark on all sides
What on earth could they be burning
In the chimneys at brickworks
That have once gone so thoroughly under
There is no end to the black smoke disappearing
Into the clouds that blanket the sky
The sky's farthest platinum edge
Slowly shrivels, contracting away


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