Leigh Harlett

Cigarette gripped between thumb and forefinger –
The baton of a grand conductor.
Smoke tendrils map out the score –
Quavers in the crumbling ash,
A minim in a dying ember:
One bright spark before it fades away.
Symphonies of silence,
There’s cotton wool in all of the instruments:
Piano, pianissimo, pianississimo.
Raise your wand, maestro,
Bring it to your lips with practiced ease,
And inhale your orchestra.