Let my bones be better traveled after flesh has attended
and hindered.
Let them rattle on a string around the neck of creatures,
bold and roaming,
with beast hair, polished stones and a herbaceous plait;
charms healing.
Let my ribs protrude at a jaunty angle from plains, barren
and desiccated;
let them, though broken and hollowed, pick sonatas from hot
meandering winds
and with stealth and over-the-shoulder looks let the locals
gather to listen.
Let my femur be a gnaw bone for a she-wolf full bellied
and contented;
let her trot her bouncing-rear gait, muzzle lowered, wary
eyes intent,
to her suckling pups to share; accepting yelp-thanks with
long tongue caresses.
Let my skull be a prop held and caressed by sweaty hands
by those possessed;
let them hold my diminished, polished visage and declare,
“Alas, poor poet..”
and recite true the words of those aiming to discern order
from disorder.
Let a part of my bones be cast to burn and given to those
that love me;
let them with a final sigh of assent puff the dust leeward from
cupped palms
onto a receding tide to a current returning with no haste
to tropical shores.
Let me push my body bones up from this chair, away from
this screen;
let me walk across the room to the window and the scene
passing unaware,
and pressing against sun warmed panes leave hand prints;
flesh intact.
February 2002
Belated Words 
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