Proverbs 12:18

I’ve smoked a pipe on summer nights

and watched my breath take shape

in the still of November mornings,

and it’s funny the way they look alike:

the blue-grey smoke and the forming vapor

(like fire and water’s natural offspring,)

as if a generational gap were all it took

to forget an age-old bout.

The universal symbols: one

of death and destruction, one

of cleansing and life, both produce a haze that looks

alike as it floats from my mouth.

Perhaps we ought to ask ourselves

if what floats off

from off our tongues

is smoke or only vapor.