Inspired by this post at Matsu's World and a gift I received a few weeks ago, and finally used today for the first time.
Incense rises
like a river. The surface never ceases
to move, to change, to evolve
from opaque to translucent
gray against black velvet.
Incense rises--
it's not a river. Parity disintegrates
at the surface. Smoke evaporates
with nothing below to take its place
but empty air, and the struggle remains
to make meaning where there is naught
but the smell of Cassia,
the knowledge of its origin.
The river rises,
threatens to bear me away in my grief
that a gift cannot be simply a gift,
but a reminder of what cannot be undone,
the slate-wiped-clean I can never attain,
the unanswered prayers I've never let pass
my lips, weary with the weight of regret.
1 comment:
Lovely Photo! I am envious. Incense is a Bozo No-No in our house due to asthma problems. I used to burn it in the truck on the way to work but that wasnt a good idea either. Father D. said the Gonesh stick stuff was made by pagans so I had to give it up. :>}
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