Thích Quảng Đức (11 June 1963)

First, a baptism
            of gasoline
that translated saffron 
            to deeper gold, 
then, a mirage’s 
            shivering vapor,
the Austin Westminster’s 
            cool blue hood 
forever frozen agape 
            as if in silent witness
to the impassive man 
            who struck
a match as casually
            as an offered light,
as if to steal Death’s thunder,
            as if to say,
No matter how close
you hold me, 
I will hold you 
closer still.
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