A PLACE
He makes altars for the lost, a place
To pray and to question the dead.
He makes portraits out of sun and leaves.
To pray and to question the dead,
I sit before ancestral altars.
They have questions of their own.
I sit before ancestral altars
And the dead have questions:
“How could this have happened?”
I have gazed for hours at their startled faces.
He makes portraits out of sun and leaves,
Builds altars for the lost, a place.
— Robert Schultz