She stepped out again to smoke.
To sit among her garden flowers,
Now laughing; and quietly wile away
A day with lilies, dahlias, iris and
Bright wisteria scents slashing.
Laughing at nothing but happy and gay,
And her smoke curling roundly
In such an odd way, it reminded
Her of him and his own stark
Laugh, in the bustling, busy cafe.
He had found her, (or her him),
Rescued her, ground her,
There. Introduced his sublime stability,
Opposite of smoke, that vapid sort
Of self.. invisibility.
Belly up to the Bar 