Sorrow lit the incense stick,
and I watched the flame flicker,
its shimmering verve dwindled,
a dim ember and ashen vapor remained.
As lightest eddies curled the thin wisps
like your memory now thin and frail,
the palest blue lit the long night
and the waning moon held on.
This morning’s bird cries a mournful song
to the lingering night’s clear fate,
as the morning grows, the moon pales,
and my grief wakens as your spirit fades.