The fountains are dry and the roses over.
Incense of death. Your day approaches.
The pears fatten like little Buddhas.
A blue mist is dragging the lake.
You move through the era of fishes,
It seems as though the speaker, full of dread and despair, confronts her approaching motherhood. 
 One would think that incense could also be used to make one’s room or home smell good. 
 In this instance, it implicates eager expectations of Sylvia having a child. 
 This line also hints at memories of death of her deceased father. 

The Manor Garden