some, older than you
prophesied, I would never be cold
all my duties
are to avoid burning
I told you of my temples
you come empty-handed
asking for frankincense, myrh
I knew of this ghost once
a thousand years ago
some, say he will return
humans are so god-awful impatient
some, waiting in white
will never see him
others, shackled at the ankle
say he is still here
I am not one for answers
I pour my questions out
into the street
as if it was a river
more often than not
is it a graveyard
if I do die
bury me shallow
why should I be silent
even the stones would cry out