Only Once Before Burnt By The Sun Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

during a late afternoon a sunbeam
highlighted on the wall the gaze of
an oddly rendered portrait painting.

The illumination reminded me of my
father's memorial service when the cleric
amidst the myrrh and frankincense

of smoldering candles swung the thurible
and hum drummed Slavonic incantations
as the orb of an amber sun setting ray

traversed his silver filmed visage.
In that moment I sensed his soul dissolve
metamorphosing into a rising Sphinx

while mine transmuted into Icarus's.
Both our spirits defying the Orthodox
tradition of repudiating service to

cremated remains.
But Ra wouldn't have it as attested by
the glow in my father's eyes.