Scenes from the Incense

Smoke Theater

Smoke wasps in front of the window
to create dragons and maidens
in a power play of sunlight.
Maidens with long white hair dance
to heaven floating safely away from
snapping vociferous dragon jaws.

Wind:
and the frieze blows a frenzy of
dragons colliding into maidens
screeching pterodactyls roaring to the
scene threatening to eat the faces
off maidens.

Now straight up:
loose dragons have escaped the swirl
and advance in my living room
perilously far from their homeland
of a story heaven in front of my window.

Thick clouds hover over the actors
with no escape.
Blue haired now, the maidens have
aged since their birth
they sink towards the ground and
collide with the chair
porcelain faces cracking against wicker.

The last gasp:
short, fast, and straight up.
None of the fanciful drama of its youth
the maidens and dragons are now
only skeleton remains.
Each dragon only has an obligatory puff
of smoke exiting each nostril and the
now gray hair of maidens has faded.

It's only a memory now this drama
in the sunlight of my window.