Offerings to Ancestors

In carrying down the fumbling flame,
My slippers slip on lichen steps
That lead into the blackened pond.
My knees are knees reflected in
The rippling water pulling me.
My arms are arms of nearby trees
The monkey troupes are highwaying.

He must be blinking heavy sighs –
The one who always stood so firm,
Unshaken but for grumbling lips –
Receiving bumbling offerings.

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