I've knelt on mats of reeds to idols,
that we revered with pious trust.
They fell to near obscurity,
and now they mingle with the dust.
I've of chiseled and scraped from the tablets
my deep deliberate curving ruts,
to weather out times ruthless passage,
carving out my eternal cuts.
Indelible, and yet delicate
and considerably few,
consider all of what you see,
for they purely belong you.