Smoke

Soft, grey, floating tugged by breeze, a light cloud

Almost alive, a plume from source, spreading out

Rounded edges like a cotton ball, smudged against the sky

It twists and turns, folds and curls

I imagine the birth of it, small, hot, as it joins the air

Each tiny particle playing, jouncing with another

Like a swarm of swallows, ever changing form, direction, shape

Seeming to have no firm gain in mind

Enjoying the freedom, billowing forth, so happy to be loose

I ignore the cause, I don’t want to consider

Yet it is there, this ground for the smoke, reason, rhyme

And so I watch this ever evolving cloud

As it paints the sky in front of my eyes

Unable to look elsewhere, drawn to it, glued

Then I find another focus, as life has needs also

I turn to them and so this become a memory

Amongst all the others, this is filed, stored, just another moment

Adding to my own personal plume of smoke

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