This morning’s sky

Reminds me of

My uncle’s cigar

Many years ago

In Port Washington

Hanging there against

The backdrop of

His thin beard

The center glowed

Crimson almost winking

Surrounded by gray

Ash it hung

There then gone

Between his laughter

There then gone

Between the clouds

Soon to be

All but ash

As he stubbed

It out like

The sunrise does

To the dawn