cigarette

I had just finished the coffee,
(it was heavy black and colombian)
and I saw the steely blue stillness of the sky
and thought, "I'll have a cigarette"
and did just that.
barefooted,
in a loose black linen shirt.
I felt like some ancient maharishi
lost in the autumn of a foreign land.
the treeline starved by the cold.
I scratched three matches illuminated
caught it slightly before the impish wind extinguished them.
the window nearest was black
nearly opaque,
it mirrored the whole of my figure
and I stood
bearded,
the smoke coming in great billows
from between my cracked and bleeding lips,
like the very gate of the akeldama
black eyes and thick hair.
as I saw myself now
I wondered what had been seen
in this confused child of a man.
I wondered
how a man I could ever be called,
and I wondered why
I had believed them
when I alone
knew how truly childish
I truly was.