Two wise blue-eyed cigars

arrived this day in nineteen-nineteen

with little grins on faces
and now like languorous jet-

liners they retrace the entire

world, from branch to

waving vallisneria—
iridescent Australia—

in ninety-one years they have

not touched the glass, but

their mouths where the

cigar was snipped search

in the gravel like paws

for worms, then stop, dart up

to steal a drop of atmosphere.