The rituals had their own tempo

Shifting from a lope to a stroll

The rituals had their own rhythms

A longline of sound and gesture

Of flame and milk and water and seed and leaf and

The rituals were lulling stupefying mesmeric

But they only made me numb

Only left me tired

And the only emotion I had was about him:

He was not so old

How sad for him

Sad for him

Not me

No

No ritual I suppose could enlarge that