With Her

ashes fell from her bent cigarette and
would not go out where i stepped,
but we did not burn up.

on the back lot certain things we
discussed. carefully, i turned the thing
i pretend is my wedding ring.

"what do you think we'll be when we stop
growing up?"

do you think we'll be inside when the rain
shows up.

no.
oh.
her gray smoke went into the air real slow.

sink or swim?

you and i will learn how to get by.
women like us- well. well.

well. i think i will have some regrets.
there is a poem in that cigarette.