The elevations bring back
that day when you pulled
a perfectly preserved rose
from a bag of tasbih,
looked at its exquisite beauty
and, acting in the way of God,
placed it on the fire.

It is the scent of timelessness,
just in time.

Surely in this is a sign
for one who reflects.

May I be like that rose:
blooming in the right season
and content to be pressed
by the little I can remember
until one day, my master
returns me, via the heat
of my devotion,
to Reality.