Here, If I could ,
I’d call a circle
with all the people I resent
And offer them honey.
And pour them some water.
I’d light a candle in the center.
And I’d place all our names in the fire.
And I’d burn away our karma.
On a pyre of acceptance
To eat up the last of it
I’d sip down the bitter tincture.
I’d harvest our mistakes with my scythe.
I’d return the pain as an offering of grain
To give back to the wayward ones
I’d hand the hungry ghosts
A small cup of steaming tea.
To hold them until they’re warm.
Until wrapped in warm blankets
They return to dream heavy with sleep.
There’s work to be done
The ashes that remain
haven’t yet been carried
into the wind to cleanse us all
with salt and mist.
They still sit,
in an offering urn
waiting for the mourning.
I sit at home.
Still in the night.
Except my feet.
Which are yearning.
I won’t be tempted by this
impulse into restlessness.
I keep company with my loneliness.
Until in silence I can see my breath
WIth eyes closed.
Here, The stars open above me
Here, Beside me, below me and behind me
They open and shine
Here, they tell me something brilliant
They witness the pain and heartache I feel
Here, I become the stars as the last scent of amber
linger on the hearth’s censor at sunrise.