Smoke’s way’s a good way– find,
or be rebuffed and gone:
a day and a day, the whole world home.
Smoke? Into the mountains I guess
a long time ago. Once here, yes,
everywhere. Say anything? No.
I saw Smoke, slow traveler, reluctant
but sure. Hesitant sometimes, yes,
because that’s the way things are.
Smoke never doubts though:
some new move will appear.
Wherever you are, there is another door.
William Stafford: “Ask Me:100 essential poems”