Holy Smoke

Holy Smoke

I want to share a hookah with the Buddha.
Yes, that would be heaven, just imagine–
reclining in royal ease, or even on our backs
eyes on clouds or stars approached by
dancing smoke in fantastic shapes:

             girls at play
             men with swords
             flocks of birds
             or butterflies
             a man and wife
             with tenderness
             embracing
             with a kiss
             thunderous men
             and all their works
             little fists
             around knives and forks
             a stalking cat
             a river of bats
             women at ease
             or laboring
             an old man dying
             his loved ones crying
             a mother nursing
             young men cursing
             old women praying
             old men playing
             cards or chess
             a boy exploring
             the local wilderness…

all these pictures I would exhale as we smoked
and when the last curling image had dissipated
he'd blow a shape like a question mark.
A deep breath in and three puffs out, my response
would hover there: Y - E - S.