*I have changed it as you recommended, Andrew. Brilliant. MUCH better.
Thank you! Sheila *
*Smoke*
Where she listens, her small breath
is heard, not smoke, not voice,
not thin wind, just the blend
of each one being where they are
Where she is, they are
indistinguishable from the sound
of thin smoke rising
to the heat of afternoon
Where they are, trees are,
along the warm cement wall
where they sit, and where she smokes
the slender brand, this gentle afternoon
Where they speak, they do not hear
smoke rise toward the blue
behind lace branches where the shadow
mimics slight moves of receiving branches
Sheila E. Murphy
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