Morning and a cigarette
the stars have turned their backs to us
From the long breath of silence
we inhale and begin to disappear
like bead lightning
We witness our flesh racing from the sun
We go on smoking
to fit our forms into the world
We go on smoking
to bloom like white narcissus
We go on smoking
racing with the angel of death
We know her burning embers
are a spray of constellations
and the day begins with shooting stars
The snow is tutoring the cold
and here we are frozen
with our jeweled lips
gripping the moment,
losing our breaths.
