An Effigy Burning, Abandoned
       

Light bends through leaf-moisture, a fluid
grief etching the air with myths

that give up the ghost. With ash on the tongue,
anything uttered sullies water.

On lawns of the dead, stone virgins loom
over headstones with chastised fruit,

a suffering that withers as it ripens. Forgetting
is best done with smoke, an effigy burning.

Constellations moan, starved, of heroes
and dust. Signification requires

water tell a good story, reflection a trick
of light. If narrative is

a Western concept, Buddha's left to reflect
on the calm of decay, a hybrid

of flesh and time. Death is nothing to
condemn or praise, the flowering

that rises fragrant out of rot
the only true transubstantiation.

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Copyright © 2021 George Looney All rights reserved
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Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission