Night Smoke
Incomplete, it rises
only to dissipate
like the griefs we shape,
somehow unnoticed,
beyond reach but felt.
Last night’s moon, the glance.
Forgotten stars, a withheld
kiss, words we never formed.
How difficult to be lost.
So easy to remain unseen.
* * *
“Night Smoke” first appeared in November, 2014.
O at the Edges 
You have such a way of touching on thoughts that are already there waiting to be noticed.
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I spend a good portion of my life in those places, Ken. 🙂
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Love it!
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Thank you, Tammy, as always, for being so kind.
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It’s reciprocation Robert, your poetry has been very kind to my mind 🙂
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🙂
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Love this piece of creative writing…
chris
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Thanks very much, Chris.
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hauntingly beautiful
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Thank you, V.J.
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This poem perfectly describes the unnamed feelings I had one night, sitting in the corner of my New York apartment, on a sultry July night, smoking a cigarette while listening to Laurie Anderson’s “Tightrope” on my Discman… watching a casual friend sleeping on my couch. I knew we would just be friends but I wished she was my lover. Words I could never say, the smoke disappeared, like my courage to ask…
Love and smoke, both lost in the burning…
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The tangible become intangible…
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Gorgeous.
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Thanks very much.
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mmmm! Lines like these start things stirring … I feel the energy, the melancholy.
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Thanks, Jazz. By the way, I found your comment in my spam folder. Dunno why it was there.
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the grief we shape… so true, and how carefully we craft our sorrow sometimes, as if it is the only thing that makes sense. Love that!!
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We must shape carefully… Thank you.
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Painfully real and perfect. It also reminded me of my favourite portrait of a poet: Zbigniew Herbert against a black backdrop striking a match to light a cigarette. It also reminded me of a line from Bernardo Soares (Pessoa) about hurling a lit match into the abyss of night. Sorry for these irrelevant associations. The poem stands alone in its naked beauty. It will be one of my favourites of yours. You constantly challenge and inspire me to return to poetry. Thank you.
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I know that photo, but not the Pessoa line. And thank you for your kind words.
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Like the grief we shape, indeed. So poignant, almost too pungent to be ignored, yet often disappears as the winds hit. I love your writing, as always.
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Thanks very much. So much happens around us that we’re unaware of. If only we looked around.
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Creative, nice
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Thanks very much.
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You are welcome
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The imagery in this well crafted piece is remarkable.
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You are very kind. Thank you.
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I read the line twice “how difficult to be lost”. Some feelings don’t have words, yet we somehow tend to describe them, only to explain its essence.
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The poet’s dilemma – how to say the unusayable.
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