My Life As a Smoke Ring

With a nice cigar I blow a perfect smoke ring, And the ring holds briefly. I consider that focus of energy-- The snapping of my jaw. The ring succumbs to the evening: Hard-edged blue smoke Burns off the hot stick end Soft volumes of gray puffed circles Spew forth as the moment calls To live out their perfect circle lives Then be annihilated Unnoticed By mere confusions In the cool night breeze I consider my House Pieces of life drawn together Of more dynamic forces. Energies which held together Home Decay In the same way the smoke ring is gone.