Smoke

The Fading sun light,
An eerie pink glow,
Illuminates a tree
Or not the tree,
But its autumn leaves
And makes it seem aflame
Except for the lack of smoke
That would be rising
In rich billows to
Play with the pure air,
Tickle it, and dissipate
Leaving only the
Rich smell that sticks
To your clothes
And makes you remember
Fond summer bon fires:
Conversing with friends,
Into the night until
Only vibrant red
Coals stand out
Against dark ash
Like bright leaves
On dark branches.