the light filters
through the blinds
through the smoke
in wavy lines
across
the empty room

the orange ember
of the lit cigarette
reflected back
from the dead
television screen
the only sign of life
flares occasionally
the crackle of tobacco
an accompaniment
to the lazy
exhale

the birds are silent
or
he is deaf
to their song
the world seems
to be still

he cannot tell
if it dreams
or if he does

it doesn’t matter

he stares at the ceiling
trying to interpret
the hidden meanings
in shadow
and light