the moth in the smoke ring
the effortless encounter
the slightest breeze
a light beat of the wings
order and perfection are reduced to regulated chaos
once a beautiful circle floating on air
now trails drifting to the street light
flowing without perceivable order
appearing illogical, irrational
beyond the realm of comprehension,
there lies the order
an unseen structure
making all smoke rise differently
but the same every time



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