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With Smoker’s Hands
Through years of chuckles and vivid imagery,
They sit across from each other;
Inventing moment to moment another day,
Past transparent overlays.
Smoke encircles
new-found wrinkles,
In ends so filled with friendship.
Then one day the smoke stopped.
No more to circle overhead
Where French Fries and flea markets
Meant more than friends.
An empty room is filled more now
With sorrow than they could with laughs.
And through a vacant stare
A veteran of his craft
Demolishes his white canvas ~
with smoker’s hands.
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