I wonder if it's the flames,
the crisp notes
or the glow of a lighted cigarette.

In the ash tray everything is gray.
Your problems,
The debt and bills,
The depression.

The wind blows,
And everything drifts away,
For a moment. For a moment,
Everything is alright.

And you watch the ashes crumble
away and the world crumble
away. Leaving you
and only you.

You no longer doubt the power of the lighter
and your fingers,
Around its plastic filled fuel burnt glory.