Brush Strokes

As twirling wispy smoke strands intertwine
eluding weight to dance in lazy flight
first splitting, parting, each its own curved line,
then crossing, joining, make a spiral tight

so stories intersect, others’ with mine,
and histories seem to follow their own sight
colliding deftly, marked by sublest sign
of composition by the knowing light.

This artistry transcends my feeble mind,
and artful more that it only appears
through searching, asking, pleading for a breath
of consolation for these longing tears,
and once in ages piercing vision find,
a hint of awesome secrets kept by death.