Smoking a Dead Friend's Cigarette
Ariel Francisco
I found it bookmarking a Frank
O'Hara collection I hadn't heard of
as I helped clear out your things,
it's faded white, bright against
the yellowing pages. Deep into
this night, when the hours mean
nothing, I sit down on the trunk
of my car and light up for the first
time, let that burning tunnel
through my insides, leave them
smoldering an epitaph, coughing
up a eulogy against my will. How
far does someone's light travel?
At what distance is this glowing
in my hand no longer visible?