2. The Skulls

The three gods
  I worship

are dead.
  They stare

from the backs
  of their heads,

through
  the hollows

of their eyes —
  their vision

leaking from
  every fissure

and crack
  on the cranium.

The bone-skin
  of these skulls

shines like
  the silver sheen

of a new-born
  fish,

each plate
  like scales

restoring memory,
  genealogy —

secrets
  only fossils

keep alive.
  Skulls on wood,

on carpet,
  on drapery —

studies encrypted
  like an unwrapped

pyramid of bones,
  mummies waiting

to be embalmed
  in oil and graphite —

as I sprinkle
  water and colour

on the shrine
  of my night gods.

[based on Cézanne's series The Skulls,
oil on canvas / graphite and watercolour on paper, 1890-1906]