Thurible
Dimly-lit church, empty
except for the strong lingering scent
of spicy-sweet smoke
from a funeral earlier in the day.
Gray rising clouds
no longer visible,
stale recollections left behind
with memories of a soul I did not know.
Lives sputter and ignite
like aromatic crystals
heaped onto blistering coals,
souls billowing and ascending.
Tim Bete