Kevin Young – Feb 18th, Iyengar III

In the tradition of the Mirabai, The Song of Songs, Neruda…

SONG OF SMOKE

To watch you walk

cross the room in your black

corduroys is to see

civilization start—

the wish-

whish-whisk

of your strut is flint

striking rock—the spark

of a length of cord

rubbed till

smoke starts—you stir

me like coal

and for days smoulder.

I am no more

a Boy Scout and, besides,

could never

put you out—you

keep me on

all day like an iron, out

of habit—

you threaten, brick-

house, to burn

all this down.You leave me

only a chimney.