Smoke & Mirrors
Taking a break from weekly essays to release some poetry.
I form my lips in a circle with a small opening where I will my breath to come forth from within me and extinguish the flame.
The flameās will is greater than mine, and, although it flickers, its fire remains.
I will another breath, this one stronger than the last, and as my breath escapes my lips, the flame escapes into the air.
What was once bright orange & yellow & at times red is now gray & white & at times invisible.
I watch the smoke snake into the air - coiling in all directions - carried by the echoes of my breath.
I watch all color disappear. I watch it burn its last moments, its last breaths, before vaporizing forever.
Some smoke lingers.
I watch whatās left of the flame dance with the air.
It moves slowly - almost imperceptibly - as if not wanting to be noticed.
I blow gently this time to see how the lingering smoke will react to my breath.
It spreads, recoiling from the force of the air, before dancing again to a song I canāt hear.
Before long, the smoke grows so thin that I canāt see it anymore. I canāt distinguish it from its colorless background.
This invisible flame & smoke was once strikingly visible: a truth I cannot shake.
Most descriptive of smoke and what it does with its swirls and curls. It used to be an important accent in the movies. All the actors seemed to have a cigarette in their hands. At least it kept their hands occupied as they never knew what to do with them when they started out. Smoking allowed us to pause and meditate and enjoy the smoke titillating our lungs and allowing us to dream.