Bone Flute

Breath through old bones,
Hollow pipes reverberating
Flight and sounds of wings,
Violence of teeth and fur
Left to cast their dreams
In the dark, fragments
Stripped of referents
We speculate,
Not recreate.
Not wholly dead,

No need for faith to prove

What fell on human ear,
Element of ritual, dance, or death—
The simplicity of caves
Saying bones aren’t done
Speaking yet
Where sound, and hope of song,
Go on.

Breathe upon these slain
So many like me
Littered over valleys—
Tribes, nations, daughters
Dry bones, disassembled
Behold, I will cause breath to enter into you,
And ye shall live.
Waiting to hear what my bones
Will say

Since I wasn’t sure,

Through life—
But no need for faith to prove
Such elements of ritual, dance, or death—
Restore me to the simplicity of caves,
And I will know my bones
Aren’t done speaking yet,
Where sound, and hope of song,
Go on.

 

          November, 2011

                         For Jelle Atema, with thanks