A congregation of fiery flames – the only source
of light in this church of starless night.
Smoky incense of cherry and cedar,
embers pulsing red and orange.
Wood cracks and pops, falls into
vanishing heaps of gray ash, erasing
a history, a life, and I wonder about
my own life and ashes.
Ashes scooped up and heaved into
mounds in the brush near old friends – the ash tree,
the willow still whimpering,
the crab apple dipping heavy branches and
offering bright fruit as homage. The silent
morning after bringing blessings of
rain and a small whisper of smoke.
First published November 20, 2010 by Eunoia Review
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