by Katerina Plotnikova

They are here!
It is time!
They come in every rustle of the leaves,
in the tempered “whoosh” of a match lighting,
In the rising of the sun,
and the falling of twilight’s silent curtain.
They gather, feast, delight in what’s been set for
them.
They speak quietly but surely to our hearts.
I want to know what they know,
but they tell me they have forgotten,
forgotten the hardship that is earthly life,
they are busy remembering all that is good,
food, drink, the company of loved ones,
the coolness of water, and the warmth of fire.
It’s sensual, this life.
Enjoy every good thing,
they say.
When you die, you will forget the hardships,
but it is the earthy things you will long for,
return for.
The scents, tastes, sounds of life,
everything solid that holds us fast to it.
I see their shapes forming in the smoke of the copal,
then in a breath they dissipate again.