There in the night we think of exclusions
In our joint  fates , our common destinies
As odd sounds issued from creaky souls
On  top of a workaday, as strange dreams
Of our ancestors looking past their  bodies.
It is not they but the rising tide of  decay.
Bodies are not theirs but of time and night.

Our own  bodies lay sprawled under trees
Beside temples of red and  mesh in a day.
Their eyes look through trees and beyond
Solving the mystery of our bodies in stones
Turning to stones , water, wind and dust.
Their sadness is their exclusion, their joy
Contained in the hollowness of their gods.