Smokescreen: a poem

Smokescreen

To think lightly of a word

you must first let it float.

Clementine is just a fruit

until it’s a girl

or a song

or a dance.

You were just a boy

until you were a friend

or a father

or a memory.

So the riddle that stumped the masses

was actually quite simple. 

A smokescreen with no right of passage

and the only way out is through.

When we do truly float

weave ourselves and the word

the two feel no difference.

Then, the boy and the girl

the song and the dance

the fruit and the memory

all rejoice and ride tandem to Paris.