Shaman

Carefully, he spat
In her ashes, and mixed them
Into a fine paste;

With this, he painted his face
An old ritual horror.

The beads she loved, he
Wrapped about his wrist - they would
Protect him later -

And he bound his hair until
It sang pain into his scalp.

The cold mysteries
Were his. In whispers, the dead
Began to know him.