Smoke Signals.

I never burned my eyelashes
just because they were in the way of a tent-city campfire on a cold night in the city,
but then, she probably never did either,
and I'll bet she never smoked in the rain
just to see the raindrops make tiny holes of clearest night sky in the smoky halo around her head,
and I'll bet she never climbed a mountain in hottest summer
just to watch the smoke rise off the distant hills as the sun sets behind them,
and I'll bet she never smoked pot in the rainbow fog of an airtight bathroom
just because there was no room to sit and not smoke somewhere else,
and I'll bet she never slept on the sidewalk on 41^st Street in February
just to watch her breath crystallize on the plastic tarp over her face by the light of a marquee,
and I'll bet she never sat in a ravine before dawn
just to watch the dew settle on the broad, mossy rock walls,
and I'll bet she never burned a picture of her mother
Just to see her face melt into a red bubble, and then disappear into a smoky hole growing from the center out,
and I'll bet she never climbed up to the roof ledge at new moon
just to watch the boiler blow smoke rings against concentric auras of pale pink street-lamps
…but then, she probably never did either.

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