Brush Strokes

A meditation on the mystery of life, in sonnet form


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.