Marie Laveau

Hard glare at the photograph’s camera,
she’s keen to be taken

back to the tomb, neck arched, palms lifted
and turned in, like this: 

/.\ (fire). 
Hurry, we’ve not much time.

But then it’s too late 
already, the stragglers 
have caught up, and the guide
coming with his latest speech.

It goes that (are you listening?)
any trinket, bauble, 
or icon, touched once
and buried in a small patch
of mud (no, a thousand times)
was presumed to come back
as the original person. (OK, which Marie 
would find no burial here? A trick 
of light do you think? How far to the hotel?)

I think there ought to be a crow perched 
above his head: ^^  don’t you saying 
Tough luck come back tonight
full moon and besides, the jasmine…

Or, to put it this way:

We saw a temple 
a series of repeated XXXs had decided to decorate;
the sun going down; a half-dozen sweaty tourists
with beads and water bottles.

Two pieces of black chalk.