Forgetting Our Last Cigarette

Perhaps it is that Tim and I are becoming forgetful.
Things are slipping away.
A line of code, a character we loved,
a god or goddess,
what a note I scribbled on a piece of paper
that morning in the car

so that we have taken up having a cigarette
some afternoons outside near the carillon
in that time between the last cups of coffee
and time to walk to the car or the train.
We forgot that we had our last cigarette
a long time ago, and when a passerby asks
why we are doing smoking,
we look for the answer in an exhalation
that moves so very beautifully up
and towards the sound of the bells.

It's late

and we really must be going.

For more about the two embedded videos based on poems by Billy Collins, read this earlier post.


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