Nirvana

Hanged upon a tree.
Hanged upon a tree that no longer blooms,
no longer bears fruit,
no longer grows.

Hanged upon
a grim, decaying trunk.
Hanged upon the years
grasped by that decay.

The saw blade spins,
the growth rings reverse.

Some are made into thresholds.
Some into firewood.
Thresholds worn down underfoot
are taken too for firewood.

Hanged upon firewood.
Hanged upon fire.
Hanged upon desire.

Smoke coils and swirls.
A rare fragrance drifts outward.

The tree is no longer a tree.
I am no longer myself.