One Night Stanzas

An Evening Descent

The wind rips it from his fingers,
flings it through the railing,
then, thoughtlessly,
abandons it to gravity.

It drops gently,
this little gift,
this beacon
in the evening gloom.

Soon, though, the fall will end –
its burning will be blackened
by the cold concrete below.
Soon, yes;

but not yet.

First, a fierce and final flare;
a single-second explosion
that shatters the dark;
a shower of sparks
that catches my eye – and holds it –
long after darkness
reclaims its place,

after all that’s left
of the falling cigarette
is its lingering smell
of smoke.

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(Photo by Timothy Fellsrow)