Snowed and Smoked

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by Dan Uppetreloc

Blowing cigarette smoke out into the falling snow I realized that smoke is snow is smoke.

I say this because they look similar, especially when a wind is blowing the snow.

My breath, of course, drives the cigarette smoke as it dissipates into the falling snow.

What is the line between falling snow and smoke? What is the line between you and me, reader?

It could be a lot of things. I improvise these lines and you, I suppose, peruse them

or maybe even interpret them. Right now, as I right this, I cannot tell you where I am going.

How does, or perhaps "should," this affect your interpretation, if, indeed, you feel like making one?

It's all as relative as a roll of the dice, which is, of course, dependent on fingers and wrists.

Any line is partly random and partly intentional, I guess.

Speaking of lines, what is a line of poetry? How does it relate to the difficult-to-discern

line between smoke and snow, especially on a blowy day?

For a line of poetry is, like the line between snow and smoke, a boundary.

Is it possible to create a nonporous boundary? If so, what kind of damage does it do?

I assume such a solid line creates damage because such boundaries seem so rare in nature.

The ocean bottom, for instance, is sponge-like, and interacts with the soft rock and fiery mantle.

Just an example. Or two.

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Dan Uppatreloc formed out of a strange, but not dangerous, grey vortex in the low white clouds on a very foggy day. He doesn't talk, but he writes, drums, and sings wordlessly. 

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