Blue haze: smoke
veiling a wall of trees.

It makes no difference
to most people. To most
it’s just part of the fabric.
The message is,

pay it no mind, we’ve got
things to do. We’ve got
places to go, people
to see, to speak to.

An eagle — rather, a large bird
of some mystery — scours
from a height.

People don’t see it —

with their places to go,
their people to speak to;
they are already taken up
on wings of metal, of fiberglass,
and each one waits to fall
into a blue haze
that will take them in
and render the worry useless.

All the time
blue smoke hangs
motionless, and
an eagle hangs still
in this final morning
of a world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
T
7/8/2025