Precious Bones

You and your precious bones
sway and arc in ways that make
us drift in the wind and grow
out from granite. They splinter
in shards that will thankfully do us in,
pierced
loved
fractured
into a haystack mound
of one carefully layered memory.

9/13/11

No Wings

Each day I am more
an Old Man just waiting
to be poked and prodded,
singing only at night.

9/8/11