NaPoWriMo #2 – Smoke

Smoke

as incense rises to heaven I watch
smoke drift past his teeth and become
as it were, air, when for a moment

I imagine a burning coal placed
in my gums, for the effect of holiness;
white smoke indicating prayer or death,

a censer made of maxilla and mandible,
fastened with a copper chain and swung
by the young thurifer, three times

three, a most blessed sacrament
over bedsit, tabernacle, cuticles,
still eking from the centre.

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