The Moya View

The Smoker

Image credit: The Smoker by Steven J. Levin

As is his habit, he smokes the rolled cigarette 

down  to ashes before taking up the brush.

He waits for the smoke to linger over him,

for its aroma to stay in his hair— the cue

to push the first arc for the grey stones

on the hill he so desperately wants to

capture before the avalanche comes.

And when, he has to start over,

(as he must when they always fall),

there is the Boscaini red and the glass

on the floor, the re-inspiration aperitif

always nearby and available by the case,

that washes away the ashes in his mouth.

Like always, he throws this attempt  away,

spreads out the now black angel swirls on

the bedspread — and tries another line.





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