Friday, 23 September 2011


Our bones connect us
in a chalky prayer, the marrow
hands held upwards to the font.

You see a dog.
Behind its canine exterior,
a small curved skull with teeth,
a tail, several bones in succession.

A small puppy, ears
folded over, dog-eared, lolling,
its small feet soft and
coiled tail bouncing,
and underneath
a faint white shadow of bone.

You see a child,
not yet quite skeletal,
more embryonic in form:
you couldn’t imagine a skull
behind such small and perfect eyes.

And yet we calcify.
Just like dinosaurs of old.
We are the dog’s dinner,
and the dog’s dinner
is not so bad.

We will sleep an eternal
sleep. Weep the weeping
of eternal and unfinished dreaming.
We are connected through
the chalk of our bones, and we 
rub off on one another,
a white sea unseeming.

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