photo by Niklas Tidbury on Unsplash.com
The Remnant of Ash
It is not the Autumn leaves that are gliding gently to the earth this morning,
but white wisps of ash floating upward to the heavens.
they land silently, like snow that later melts away.
The crackling of the fire is an obvious counterpoint
to its mute remnants,
who are sleeping everywhere on the porch floor.
Now the black cat resting on a lounger
is freckled white.
She doesn’t seem to notice.
Ash is a byproduct of burning,
a consequence and a residue,
like my brief presence on this planet.
For truly I am known only by my effects,
flakes of ash left over
from the passion of Love
igniting the wood of my soul.
I am grateful to be the tender for Love’s combustion,
to give myself freely to Love’s flame.
This poem is a remnant of my burning,
whose intent is to spark the fire of Love
knowing always that the wood, the blaze, and the ash
are One and the same.