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Alone yet accompanied
in the moment of quiet
before the storm
the smell of ozone in the air
I light my cigar
and ponder the words before me
You asked me why
my eyes closed the
cigar smoke drifting around me
pooling in the air like a
giant cloud
floating here and there
“Look a giraffe.” I said
but you asked me
and I couldn’t say
my eyes holding the cigar smoke in the air
forcing it to stay aloft
forcing it to float
above me
like a wreath at Christmas
hung on the door
in hopes that St Nicholas would soon be there
but we all know Santa isn’t real
and neither is the smoke
or the sounds
you asked me why
I just don’t know.
.doc
