was it the 500,000th
cigarette
that threw the switch,
sent
your light flickering?
i see you bathed in darkness,
no light, no air,
just the rasping
of short-circuitry
Was the timer on before
you were born?
i don’t know…
Maybe the 500,001st
was the nth
of vice,
lights-out for a pulse
If Leibniz were alive, i would
ask him,
but we wouldn’t
share a smoke
I glimpse
your ghost
in
the sure hands
of a carpenter,
the polished grain
of Oregon pine,
the automatic way I
switch off the light when leaving a room,
the geometric folding of
a newspaper
on the train,
UPPER-CASE EMAILS,
those who talk to
dogs
as if they were human,
to humans
as if they were
joy itself,
the cheerful scatting
of a man in his shed,
brother’s
exasperation when someone goes right
to turn left,
sliced tomato on toast,
and – every morning –
in the shapes
of my
toes
—
beeblu blog 
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