Ellen Margaret Janson

From “Tableaux”

ONE stick I lit in the bronzen image.

The smoke curls upward—lazily—between his lips;

Ivory, and the frail blue of shadows.

The image is speaking—

Words of lazy dream-blue smoke

Carved like ivory:

“Do you remember?—

The priests wore dragons, great jeweled dragons on their robes.

They sang dreamily

To the god of the dim temple—

Chanting, chanting

Through the twisted smoke of incense.

But the god did not stir.

His eyes were like opals, veiled with lost mystery!”

The smoke curls upward—drowsily—

Between his lips;

Mist-gray, and the amber of shadows.

The image is speaking.

Words of dim gray-gold smoke

Graven like amber:

“Do you remember

The offering you burned alone at dawn

To one who did not answer?

Across the ashes

You saw the sea-mist rising—rising—

Like the smoke of incense,

And cried out with the pain in your heart.”

The smoke curls upward—dreamily—

Between his lips;

Ivory, and the lost blue of shadows.