As It Were

Smoking
What is always
The last cigarette
While keeping the sun
At bay and
Blessing an unholy fog
With time to spill forth
And lay down
Its great gray blanket

The entire planet
Swallowed in simple
Swirling mist

Imagines how easy
It could be
In black and white
Where endless stimulus
Thoughts and questions
Are absorbed
By the landscape

Where one finds
Some way
To be comfortable
With how temporary
Permanent and cyclical
Everything becomes
And no reminders
Of how quickly
We all
Become invisible