Twilight

Where there’s smoke

there are mirrors

and a dry ice machine,

industrial quality fans.

If I’ve learned anything

about the present moment

 

But who doesn’t

love a flame,

the way one leaps

into being

full-fledged,

then leans over

to chat

 

Already the light

is retrospective,

sourceless,

is losing itself

though the trees

are clearly limned.