A cigarette behind your ear
Like a dying childhood memory
You can’t allow to fade
To dissipate
Like water spilled on searing asphalt

This is yours
And I know why

But lift your head
Watch the tops of trees
As lighter things
As quiet kings
Swaying in acquiescence

“Nothing to prove,
Nothing to submit.
Ears to the sky,
Feet tucked below.
We are always new
And truer than you.”

You must learn the loss
Of cracked hubcaps,
of soft faults,
and false dross.

I often look to stars,
seasides, and Spanish moss
when plumbing the white hot depths
of peace and glory

As should you.