The physics of smoke tell gravity to get fucked.
Burning ash & haze as if from heavenward plucked.
A fire’s waste sends aloft all its pleas for rebirth.
Rain sends them back down to dampen scorch seeded earth.
Long years hence, there’s a tree in that very same grave.
With no memory of fire, tall branches grow brave.
Clouds gather, grow pregnant & the sky cracks apart.
The lumber may be soaked but lightening’s fire will still start.
The pine sap boils & the trunk shatters into flame.
A cone falls to the mud…A new verse of the same.
L.B.Stowe 