Woodsmoke

Woodsmoke

Autumn sunrays cut through a bonfire 's billows
prismed they illuminate the smoke with neatly drawn light
like painted radiations on a canvas framing
a sacred face all gentle piety
pale as porcelain ,cherry lipped
finger crooked in blessing
haloed in gold
but on the Kentish country road all there is
is delicious woodsmoke
no hectic schoolgirls seeing miracles
or there might have been if I'd looked up, seen a sole
perhaps there was a crackle of annoyance
and a tapping foot
my side hurt all day
perhaps I'm the one that got away

Woodsmoke tastes of
Italy ,expensive history
truffle oil,charcoal,roast peppers
a comradely chianti ,relishing words,chewing on politics
with a man with neat hair and good shoes
or a Gabriel Oak of a ploughman
supping sausages and hearty Hobgoblin
in a dark beamy pub with
apple logs and chestnuts
domestic and sublime