smoke

when you go away

when the smoke

rears itself over the maze

of my solitude

my soul stuck in a collar

and slacks

palpitates under cover

the hunter smells blood

in his boots

the ardent saint becomes

a dealer in a casino

the poet stopped laughing

a long time ago

she is not in the same branches

outside

she is not lying in the bed of needles

inside

is there anything in the world

is there even a world

or just this fractured distance

that I hold in my arms

like a pillow in a headlock?

is there anything beside this smoke

rising

this desire

concealing its roots

in the floor?

*

(for TC)