Restless

City smoke curls

catlike

around my ankles,

hungry and 

restless,

ceasing movement only

when the wind

dies down.

As the darkness 

takes assiduous reign

over once-was-day,

the smoke reaches

tentative fingers 

into the deepening shadows

as though searching 

for a haven of quiet,

where it may sleep

as the city sleeps.

But the wind 

is restless tonight,

puppetmaster

on whose string 

the smoke is forced to dance 

its lonely dance.