We live in our ancestors' bones -

we pick a word
and the syntax of some earlier century
is disturbed,
we open a door
and the sound echoes somewhere in an ancient house -

we live like worms
under the thick cover of plants.

We leave our children
with our ancestors
when we go to work.

We carry in baskets
our burdens and time.
We eat simple food, drink cold water and walk on
along the road to eternity
gradually fading
out of the scene
so completely that if someone looked
they wouldn't be able to tell
that we ever existed.

We live in our ancestors' bones -