Let the scene write itself

Mangaia

Draped in light caught through Ironwood trees

Branches hang limply, long needles entangled

and some fall to shield earth

A soft hue meanders over church of old

Monuments to the dead scatter surrounding edges

Looking further back to what remain

of traditions long gone

Rubble reminds me of past ceremonies

where descendants once gathered

A bone of an ancestor lies abandoned

caught between the then and now

Apprehension grabs my solar plexus

As I wonder who this bone was?

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