Though they will never have seen
such before, we leave special teas
in painted ceramic bowls, orange
and cherry jams, breads and linen napkins,
beside the remnants of their scattered bones.
We tie messages around green glass
bottles of wine, flasks of olives, place them
on the surface of the sea, watch them
sink slowly down to those who remain
among the rubble of their flooded shelters.
Were the current not so swift, we might
descend to deliver these gifts ourselves,
urging all to eat, to drink.
We feed their cold emptiness
with fragrances of tropical orchids,
the blossoms of magnolia and plum,
with the perfume of our prayers for solace
placed to waft inward over the ashes
of those entombed in desert caves.
Here are matches, we say to the bodies
frozen in icy passes, huddled inside ragged
animal skins, kerosene and a lamp,
woolen coat, metal shovel, sharpened
ax, a saddle, a horse, silver spurs.
If any should remain wanting,
yearning in their silent state, we offer
for sustenance a deeper vision of the space
where their spirits now rest, recite for them
the latitude, the longitude, the mountain
continent, the forest and prairie expanse
of their dust and decimation circling
on a vibrant globe. Orbits and revolutions,
light and stellar time might soothe their disquiet,
lift their souls to their rightful places.
And to all those without names, we give
more than one name: homo habilis, homo
erectus, fossil skeletons of rock, old
plodders, old searchers, first wielders, fierce,
steadfast clingers – and in the here and now
we are determined- the unforsaken.
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