One day while we were playing
Khotsofalang left, and no matter how much we prayed
he was killed and reincarnated as a tree.
We need to know if that is what he wanted to be.
They made a casket with his pith,
because Lesotho's big business is the making of coffins.
Some wonder why we don't make doors with loss, instead,
using planks and slats from the bodies of the dead.
Still others say books, by beating cadavers to a pulp, like pulled
pork, flattening their remains in the sun for them to dry, till
some finally come of age
and accept a dirge on every single page.