A Lark

O how beautiful the flowers 
of liquid in this cigarette 
as vague as voices drift
in vagues adrift as oil on air
how well it makes one feel
amid pastels of pigeon shit
amid our darkest thicket 
of stains laced upon stones
and sulfur allumettes 

All lit up and blood lipped 
an accidental triumph
its arch and empty shoes
unable to really place it
to pick it out à peine
au hazard amid this sunshine 
au bout amid this rain
and everything about it
wound inside miraculous
spun out so cold unconscious
both beautiful and fortuitous
this beau rencontre of alouettes

© Emily Falvey