Photo credit to Meiying Thai

When the incense burns out

I hope you’ll accept the moon’s phases.

At night the shadows creep nearer 

and they change with every blow of the wind,

every twinkle in the starlight

each embodying its own shared darkness. 

So when the incense burns out,

let the moon flaunt her light,

find her path in any way she pleases. 

She swings east and west, 

but still she is tethered

to existence. 

Let her leave 

a mark on your skin 

in the shade “Cherish”

not to bind your blood to hers,

but so you don’t forget

blissful impermanence.