(no subject)
If you're Chinese, there is that old fear
that crops up every few years in your conscience
or your dreams
that your sins are being shoring up
in an old spice box, by a toothless woman
smelling of incense
and no cloud-sprung Heaven or chorus
of wassailing angels, bright as trumpets,
awaits you
but a table of four wizened old men
with inscrutable eyes
playing dice with your deeds.