La Belle Fumeur

Curling wisps of cloudy blue

Rise languidly

A hazy veil for anesthetized eyes

The last remnant of the tempest

Trickles wearily

To cut a kohl-stained path

Along sharp angles and deep hollows

Its sensation a beautiful distraction

To a cataleptic mind

She watches stray thoughts ebb and flow

Far removed

A bystander in her own mind's eye

In these moments there is solace

A freeing resignation

A knowing surrender

Is this bliss?

Or merely disconnection?

She straightens slowly

Moving as through water

And lifts her cigarette to soft, slack lips

Inhaling deeply

As if the smoke were knowledge

That might fill her

Awaken her

And she breathes out the old

And again takes in the new