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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem