It is not the smoke that
                    coils around your head
in the garage where you’ve
                    retreated with coffee and the Times
for an early morning butt
                    that so startles me.
No, it is merely your expression,
                    the tacit admission
                                        we seldom dare to make:
that there is always
                    a life we hold in secret —
unknown, ungovernable,
                    fiercely unpossessed.