I listened to
sputtering bubbles
fuming in the spraddling froth
of a fleeting image,
my fingers reached
behind the canisters of youth
and scooped it out
of a fissured jar
in the cluttered cupboard of age
and sprinkled it into
the oil of indulgence
smoking in the caldron of my soul,
the bubbles flew
and burst in the heat
scattering a rain of ashes,
like a dying ember
curling in smoke
and crackling into oblivion.