Holding the wand as a depiction
Of a witch in a woodcarving, you light
The incense. And already the spell
Is set: casting itself over
Surfaces, rising to the height
Of a swirling ceiling, both
Visible and invisible.
It’s the taste in the air which
Truly does it, honeysuckle
Sweet, smoke in softened shadow,
Embers kissed upon spiced wood.