Shards of Bone

There are moments, hours, years

When you lie flat on your back

Arms broken, shards of bone

Littering a marble floor

Fingers scattered, and teeth

Blood soaked through the white behind


Your heart beating laboriously

Against some far wall

Eyes on the ceiling

And ears just within the threshold

Your limbs in their own small


And each thought, each emotion

A twang through the kaleidoscope

Of your body in that vast tomb-like


And your tears mingle with the blood

Staining the pristine white floor

Into a grotesque work of art

And you lay there- in jagged pieces,

A little here and a little there

Frozen in place like shimmering, ice-cold

Scattered crystal

And the twangs echo through you,

Again and again

One thought after another

One hurt, and one gasp, and one feeling

After another

Reverberating through the flesh and blood

And bone and nerve painting

The white marble floor

And the life that is a miracle into itself

That life that still runs from one scrap to the next

The life that is the thread

So invisibly and yet so inexorably

Connecting the powdered corners of the heart to the toenails

Thrown against the wall

Has a will of its own, a beat of its own,

And each pulse begins to whisper

You are beautiful

Each smattering

Each stomach churning smattering of your insides

And outsides

In all its insane combinations

Is beautiful because

It is my gift to you

And I am still here

I am still here

I am still here

I will always be here

Come rise

You will find new ways of knitting together

And new ways of shattering

And the floor will always catch you

And I will always catch you

Because I am you, whole and broken

And refigured and disfigured and

Sloppily sculpted together

And those pieces each begin to pile together into

Little piles and then big piles

And then a new mountain of a body

With the heart beating at the feet

And the arms with the eyeballs

And teeth ringing up one side

And everything entangled in brain

And nerves and bones sticking out

At awkward angles

And at last that little thread of life wraps itself

Around me in warmth and a quiet

Kind of joy and whispers back

In all your forms you will

Always be


So break and rupture and erupt

A million times over

And you will always be knit back

Into something a little more,

A little more, and then

A little more;

I am yours and you are


And that is honor enough to carry you through



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