.................................
Last Questions
.................................

Did the old priest's torch throw a pale yellow glow
over the flaking mural of the now eyeless Osiris,
and did the bare temple wall peek through Isis's face?

When the sirocco from the east howled its tale of yet another resurrection,
did this wind blow apart the temple stones which once
had been so devoutly placed one atop the other?

Did this holy man bother finishing his last incantation,
when he knew that now his chanting is in harmony
only with his echo?

Did he wonder where and why they all went:
pharaoh, the awed congregation, the incense carriers
who masked the smell of rotting Nile fish?

When he doused his torch, did he hold a stone ankh to his cheek
and realize that this sandstone cross
was cold, abrasive, and lifeless against his skin?

Did doubt become his religion,
a religion of one,
priest, acolyte, broken spirit -- a trinity?

.................................
Richard Fein
.................................

 
Copyright © Richard Fein
May 1996

...5 NYC poems in this room by Virgil Hervey...
...on the wall -- my private wall...
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