Old Man, Coffin Nail in His Teeth

Coffin nail in his teeth,

the solitary old man

keeps alive

this small handicraft,

flattening the paper in his palm,

sprinkling the dark threads of tobacco,

then closing, twisting, gently rolling

as if a well-worn machine

One lick of his tonguetip,

one light, and the whole body

fills with fragrant smoke,

his hair a gray heap of ash,

his eyes smoldering through the nights

uncompanioned flame,

embers

Coffin nail in his teeth,

the solitary man

strikes one match after another,

curling into himself,

sipping himself,

setting himself alight