~ for Ze Yang (Txhaj Zeb Yaaj) R.I.P.
Come, father, let's go
To your new home, on a throne
Of mountains. The foothills
For your pedestal, two peaks
For your armrests, the Sierra Nevada
For your crown. In this halo
Of hills, among dust and wind,
Cradled by a clear stream
To quench your thirst
And rinse your feet, lighted
By a fiery sun rising
Over your shoulders,
You will rest, then rise
To watch over
Your posterity
For eternity.
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