Memory

Smoke twists and rises like a cat stretching when the sunpatch has passed it by.
It fills my head and wraps around deep memories.
A mountain hall filled with inward light.
August heat draws sweat.
Humid air dampens the smoke.
I am carried there on the rising cloud.
The Zen Mountain is carried away in a box.

Although I just got back from Zen Mountain Monastery, I wrote this poem back in the early spring.  Since I first visited ZMM 14 years ago, I have used their zendo incense in my mediation hall ever since.  The smell of the place was one of the stronger impressions I had of the place.