Bones
Some are free floating
they can move on the diameter of a whim.
A few articulate with humor and grief,
others are hinged
so that ears can hear each other.
Many bones are scaffolds
for vision, prayer and procreation.
One hollow bone hums in the throat,
it channels the smoky saxophones
of the mind.
When death comes to nibble holes
into breastplates and ramparts
perhaps an osseous honeycomb of memory
will form caves
for disembodied thoughts
and just maybe
we will still be there,
to think them
as ghosts in some immortal marrow.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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