Offerings     At sunrise When the gong sounds And the incense smolders, I enshrine you: Candle lighted. Head bowed. On my knees. Heart open.   I lay my head Small and fearful Upon your lap And moan the low tones Of sorrow and despair and wanting.   Bare shoulders, Ours both scarred, Unburdened in this place of peace. We are weightless, Floating like water lilies, Roots entangled below the surface Divinely fused.   You ascend. I again bring offerings. To the temple.     © 2004 Jane Bruton Daughtridge