My Pipe

My pipe is a tomb where

My dead are burnt as offerings

To the living.

Smoke rises like a vail, yet

Passes into the air like my

Memories.

Swirling as a proxy for the pain

I should be feeling.

Each puff warms

My tongue and soothes

My heart.

Gently now. Feel my loved ones

Passing through my lips and

Into view.

Careful now. Each draw pulls

Life from a plant and life from

My soul, and weaves them

Together as a blanket of healing.

Each smoky dance pulls from the

Fires of my own heart, fires lit

Eternal for the lost and the

Ever-dying.

Sweet incense, delight me again

This evening with tales from the

Tomb of Time.