for Thich Quang Duc,
The monk who lit himself on fire in 1963.

The flames were a mantra,
Kissing skin like the enlightenment
That blooms when one has finally
Swallowed the last spit of his fears.
Young monk with kerosene in hand,
Pyre priest of thunder and spark.
You never said a word as you ascended,
But I wonder what you whispered
Before your blood boiled. I wonder
What you dreamt of the night before,
If you even slept, or did you stare
At the stars and say sisters
I will sing you soon,
A symphony of supernova and smoke
That stopped all the street lights
As the world basked in your blaze
As if you were the origin of heat.
You wore a halo of combustion
For all the angels that couldn't
Be heard singing a dirt song,
Harmonizing with the silence.
But the furnace of your body
Was a screaming nirvana,
And if those flames were a mantra,
Then they were speaking holy holy holy.