She looked like cigarettes and dreams.
The search for that one good, long drag
that can pull some magic from the earth;
turn rock into river
and carry the rest of us someplace better.
I’ve seen her kind before.
A poet cloaked in a shell too beautiful
for others to see the peace
and the tempest
she desperately yearns to bring to light.
That one apple of truth
that can answer the question for every banker,
and every unicorn,
where the good life
is waiting to be found.