The ash gathers upon the tip of my cigarette
Clinging, protecting the embers within
The tallest pine shooting the moon out its tip
Soaking all in a dim, pale glow
Nearby sprinklers perform their nightly rounds
Spreading damp love to drowning lawns
Thoughts swirl about in similar patterns
The glowing tip draws from its depths
No longer inside me, I release the smoke
And exhale the unbearable burden
The lightness, it calms me
Who says depth is sturdy?
And proceed to sort through it all
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