Smoke of the Well

[Humpsta]

Soft grey wisps of smoke are
Delicate silk ribbons
Stroking my fingers in the dim light
As they dance beautifully their way through the air

Curling and bending and snaking a sluggish path
A thin strand like a dream or a thought
Always changing but always clearly the same
With no beginning and no end

Lingering in my smell
Even after from my sight has past
And the memory of my memory
Of the smoke that rose from the well