"smoke gets in your eyes"
they say
but I never understood from where
from a lone cigarette
smoldering, clinging to its
last
long
ash
or from a distant brush fire
reminding us of our
transience
washing the air with crisp, fresh destruction
like a muddy watercolor
I never understood that phrase
until I looked back
remembering
trying to revive long-dead memories
trying to reinvent the past
a warm glow like a campfire
a soft sting, blurred lights
like electric dewdrops
smoke gets in your eyes
should I not look?
I'll close them
tightly
fiercely
forever
until next time
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