boy from Tibet

With gentle tugs
my hair is cut
my mother's eyes
brim with tears,

mix rice and hair
toss to the wind
that brings
my new name

borne on incense
her plump scents warm
my blood, fresh bread
as we kiss

Years later
my fingers sip
melted butter
meant for a corpse

mix ghee and gold
to shine his skin
vibrate the air
bells, chants, prayer

His Holiness
is laid to rest
lick my fingers
taste his death