often i ask of my cigarettes that
they last forever. they always answer
in ashes, smoke the moonlight slow dancer
arching out of its own transient act
as if parting came easy to creatures
that dream of eternity, and wake up
again craving its adumbration, butts
spilling out of the tray, pale these seekers
their beauty not betrayed by their briefness
but by the dream, for some things are only
enjoyed by virtue of their vanishing.
it will free if it makes time for stillness.
be patient with what is strange—there, the opening.
breathe, and know nothing but fascination.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
often i ask of my cigarettes that
they last forever. they always answer
in ashes, smoke the moonlight slow dancer
arching out of its own transient act
as if parting came easy to creatures
that dream of eternity, and wake up
again craving its adumbration, butts
spilling out of the tray, pale these seekers
their beauty not betrayed by their briefness
but by the dream, for some things are only
enjoyed by virtue of their vanishing.
it will free if it makes time for stillness.
be patient with what is strange—there, the opening.
breathe, and know nothing but fascination.
