ASHES serve as a reminder
For the laity in the form
Of a cross over their foreheads
Year by year by year by year—
Their virtues’ color,
Charred plumes of a vulture.
Their worldly existence,
A forest presumed to burn soonest.
Yet the sleight of hand,
Yet the twist of fate,
Yet the turning of tables—
Such year by year reminder
Gets slowly crossed out
As flocks of vultures feast
On the vestiges of their faith,
A forest that has burned, turned ashes.
