The Mad Agriculture Journal
November 12, 2021
We are all getting to know moon smoke,
becoming familiar with heartbreak.
There are days when vata windswept Sunday
creates momentary break
in a choked skyline lethargy.
And we remember what it feels like being able
To see with clarity and hope.
But, momentary reprieve may just be
a curve on this sin line of grief.
I am trying not to care,
Some days I am laden heavy with the wait of ash,
Some days I am at peace
in the surrender.
I am trying to know this lonely,
sacred part of myself.
I am trying to let my heartbreak
tie me to the earth,
let my loneliness take me to my knees,
let the magenta sky take my breath away.
Feel the pain of knowing -
that the beauty of such a brilliant twilight,
vibrant red moonsmoke, smoke moon,
is the product of somewhere a forest on fire.
What is loss?
What is lonely, heartbroken – rage?
What is deep hunger?
Is there a permanence and agriculture,
that can return life to soil,
breath to sky scape,
and regenerate our souls
so, we crave
and not out of greed?
Where abundance is measured in kindness -
in humility spilling over the edges of our hearts,
and soul beating so loudly
we take a moment to sit down
and listen to the silence of the night?