Holy Basil - Poem by Sonny Rainshine
Its Thai name is difficult to pronounce,
the way something sacred should be.
Like most herbs,
it grows better in poor soil;
blessed are the poor.
I sprinkle some,
on a strawberry-rhubarb pie
a saintly neighbor has left for me
and place it in the oven,
with the abrupt
fragrance of divinity,
thick with incense and heat,
my kitchen has
become a cathedral,
I walk around satiated, elevated,
holy is inside me.
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