Purple

Lavender gives its purple to drunk bees,
rosemary re-builds what was taken for the fire.

Under bruising sky, turning patched heliotrope,
in deference perhaps to noble instincts

I watch tight sticks transform into the lightest
elements, giving off ancient incense,

and with blacksmith hands, and wrought heart,
I forge your letters against a Tyrian sky.

Days later before the altar piece, I’ll give you
the purple of a penitent and wish you, pilgrim, home.