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The smoke floats and curls up
From the glowing end of a stick of incense,
Picking up the soft blue glow from the TV,
Stretching in a long line to the ceiling.
I reach for it from my place in the corner,
But it's always out of reach.
The smoke curls around my fingers and disperses.
It fades into the air.
I can't catch it,
No matter how much I try
But if I lie very still,
Maybe it will come to me,
Envelop me in its sweet fragrance,
Curl around my arms and legs and fingers and toes,
And find its way inside of me.
So I will lie very still,
And wait for it to float about me
And be still with me,
But how long will I have to wait?

Jinger Roy


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