Smoke
12:54 AM, the prologue of another Wednesday. A girl exhaling. The vaporous sorcery of cigarette smoke making breath and words visible. Sinuous gray swirls drifting to the sky and dissipating. Expression falling upwards.
There is music coming from the left. I’ve taken off my shirt because the room is hot.
The feel of water on bare skin, a full tactile caress. The warmth and silken rushing. Weightless. Rising to the boundary between liquid and air. Hazy golden light comes through that shimmery barrier.
Earlier tonight I made a snack out of slices of tomato topped with fresh ground pepper, Italian seasoning, and thin slices of Brick cheese melted in the microwave. Washed it down with juice. Cranberry-tangerine…
Night time, in Winter. Looking up into the jet sky as snow falls. All that silence, filled with slow motion. Crystal-white stars drifting down. It’s easy to imagine the feathery bits of snow hanging motionless while you move upwards. Flakes touching skin like faint cool caresses.
I touched a flower today, as I walked to the car. Reached out and ran my finger over velvety petals. Far above me, clouds rolled against blue.
Her words were smoke. Those memories and sensations. Time. We breathe it out, move through. Imagine. These little moments, now made of light and symbols.
It is late. The room is hot and I am sleepy. A Ben Folds Five CD is on the stereo. Care to guess which song from Whatever and Ever Amen is playing?
— JWR, 4/19/00