After the Pyre

Solemnities performed,
the wood piled up,
the ecstasy of flames
all through the night.
The fire makers left

long since. And now
the night is graying in the east
I find myself sitting on
a nearby log, tired,
tired... hands, feet, face

grey with ashes and
my white robes smeared, the heat
burnt deep into my skin –
sitting down at the wreckage,
the falling fragments, carved

wood well beyond
recognition, wondering
a little sadly how
this fire's elation changed
before the dawn.