Though burning too slowly and unevenly
For my tastes,
For need of turning it over to burn it so evenly,
Even so,
All cigars are the harbingers of celebration.
--Ah-ha! this particular blue plume is beautiful!
In my estimation
In this particular space the fumes curl
Into themselves dancing into an iris of import;
The smoke transfigurates into a pregnant face.
--So if my friend comes now
Roaring around that bend in a smokestack
Van and trailer in tow in time
To see this angel's face,
I will know there is God, I will know.
--'Oh God
'If Thou wilt
'Butst deliverest my friend
'To see this bloom to-day,
'I shalt
'Becomest Thy voice to Zimbabwe . . .'
--No friend and the flower sighed out,
I hesitate in such expectation
In this space
For another bloom in the stirring of this water
For a sign for him . . .
--Oh! ELEHSON ME, Son of David! pass this way! . . .
-r
