Steppe-Spirits

Forbidden, sacred sight! Potala gleaming white Reflecting Asian light; A shrine of mystic might. The monks conspire inside Old Lhasa’s palaced pride, With mummies spiced and dried, Reviving priests who’ve died. Tibetian spirits raise And cast resentful rays Through memory’s thick haze; Avengers from old days. They float across the air, Descending when and where The unbelievers dare Not worship them, nor care.