The ash keeps dropping from the incense stick.
I keep turning you over in my mind.
I keep turning you over in my heart.
The stick shortens, burning.
The ash grows
I keep turning you over.
I keep turning you.
I keep turning.
The ash keeps falling, piling up, more
of the silent reduction.
Burning earns such clean wages,
eye of ember, eye of ash hastening.
I keep turning your eyes over
to find your thoughts.
Turning your voice over
to find your meaning.
Turning your body over to find
a place to hide me.
And you keep turning inside me.