Smoke gets into everything:
bitter honey,

autumn’s distillation, bears
an aftertaste

of cats
and muscatel.

When privet
dominates, hives

disperse in sparks
through private darkness,

filling cells
with evidence of elsewhere:

spores of cockle,
rush, and dock;

perfume, and punk.

Even you (asleep
and breathing deeply)

open from the core
to all that you are not.

Devin Johnston (© 2002)