Bones

I am the bones

of the crackling sun

filtering through the glass

and flickering off the walls

painted with ivory streaks.

I am the bones

of the little crib

blanketed in pink

swaying to the hands

of watchers and guardians.

I am the bones

of the plush brown carpet

cushioning unsteady steps

and fierce smiles.

I am the bones

of the verdant yard

where a man's best friend

waits for a yellow bus.

I am the bones

of the large kitchen counter

shrinking

shrinking

shrinking.

I am the bones

of a noisy dinner table

occupied by familiar

shadows

and evergreens.

I am the bones

of the swaying juniper

whose berries fell

over a tiny pale rock

marking a sleeping friend.

I am the bones

of a small blue room

shared by breath

flesh

and dreams.

I am the bones of my home

built and stretched thin by time

broken by memories long since past

and forged stronger by the lessons

learned within.