Poetry November 2011

Smoke

Plumes from two chimneys opposite the café
          mingle, become each other. I know
what the smoke says. I know that life is nothing
          but a brief wisp. For now, we’re together
shooting the breeze, intermingling like the smoke
          that is a white shawl over the shoulders
of the invisible goddess of the cold, keeping her warm.

Presented by

Greg Delanty’s recent books include Collected Poems 1986–2006 and the anthology The Word Exchange: Anglo-Saxon Poems in Translation (2010), co-edited with Michael Matto. He lives in Vermont.

Join the Discussion

After you comment, click Post. If you’re not already logged in you will be asked to log in or register with Disqus.

Please note that The Atlantic's account system is separate from our commenting system. To log in or register with The Atlantic, use the Sign In button at the top of every page.

blog comments powered by Disqus

Video

A Stop-Motion Tour of New York City

A filmmaker animated hundreds of still photographs to create this Big Apple flip book

Video

The Absurd Psychology of Restaurant Menus

Would people eat healthier if celery was called "cool celery?"

Video

This Japanese Inn Has Been Open For 1,300 Years

It's one of the oldest family businesses in the world.

Video

What Happens Inside a Dying Mind?

Science cannot fully explain near-death experiences.

More in Entertainment

More back issues, Sept 1995 to present.

Just In