Faith

I am seeing the wick burn down
Oil falling on the prayercloth like bittersmoke

Bowing at the age eaten altar pieces
Where the gods have grown shabby
Like great grand parents revered and ignored

For a while I scrutinize their faces
See if I am seen

Before I stray to the steps and
Carry out my faith      like my mat
Rolled pressed to my ribs








Ashes

for my Mother

Swing the mattock
Slice the baked clay

Flints, chalk
The blade works through
marrow of roots
fashions the six foot plot


Cotton seals my mother's nose  mouth

... Her rings         favourite dress

I do not know you

earth           sun-brown
rills onto teak
             over final flowers


I am standing farewell
Then            Tonight
Your lips still
Your mask chalk