Inhabit a holy place, a desert
Full of stones, whose winds hollow the sun-bleached
Skulls, whose crisp sands sift sere across the bones,
Whose skies cry empty, waiting to be filled.
Green is just a memory here, the harsh
Brown, the burning red the rule. Colors run
Muddy and streaked, except for the heavens'
True blue pierced with a blinding light, the soul.
Ashes to ashes cling, and dust to dust
Returns, blown by the random winds sublime.
The powdered and scattered remains of all
That lived, some atoms from here, grains from there,
Ravel and build through chance most rare each thing
That once held the meat of the matter up
To reach for the sky. Must it endure
Again? No answer falls from the dry air.
Your hands are old bones, reaching out to clasp
Hands with the bones that surround you. The dead
Are without number, or history, or crime,
Lost in old wars, past famines, drought, they grasp
At your cuffs in their slumber. Time is so
Holy a thing that it shatters the peace
On the anvil of passed self-renewing.
Now, Now, Now, the carolling seconds toll.
Over the dead, a man-child treads gently
So none of the bones can complain. His hand
Holds the light like a diamond, in his brow
Is all of the life that remains. Who is
He that walks here, in this rough field of thighs
And ribs? No serpent licks the dawn through eyes
Grown empty, sockets shed of all virtue
Or vice, to start the spirits shambling on.
Rise.
Who is this that speaks so to the bones?
Rise.
Where are the trumpets?
They said there would be trumpets.
I don't want to move without trumpets.
Rise.
Well, all right then, but
Morning is breaking, and I for one will
Not Clean It Up.
We stretch and creak, and try to assemble
Our parts. We've grown scattered these last thousand
Years, or centuries. Hand me those femurs,
Please. Here's a pelvis. Not mine, perhaps yours,
Ma'am? I'll trade you six ribs for phalanges.
At last I am finished, missing only
Small bones (long gone) so I stand up and groan
And shake off the dust. Well now what, I say.
Follow.
We can't really walk too well.
Follow.
I mean, I'm missing a heel.
That man is missing his whole leg.
Couldn't we take the bus?
Follow.
Well, all right then, but
My jaw bone is shaking, and I for one can
Not Hold It Up.
So we rattle and creak, and try to keep
Time (now ended) as we climb past the rocks
Like teeth they would tear our skin if we had
Any, climb up to the end of the world.
The Wholes support the Parts over boulders,
Take the gate by storm, a motley of sticks
Staggering after the flesh in a dance
Most macabre. One by one we reach Him.
Live.
But it was so quiet there, in the desert of time.
Live.
Really, I'd rather not.
I tried that once, you know;
It didn't work out.
Live.
Well, all right then, but
Me you're awaking, and I for one fear
Time To Get Up.
My bones knit whole, the missing pieces fill.
Pain returns as nerves weave into nets of
Exquisite flame. Hell burns like this inside
Its heart of fire. Its name is forever.
This ends, and I sweat. Tears pay the duty
From hallowed hollows filled, and all color
Returns once again to the world. I weep
For the joy that I, now living, can sleep.
Abandon the holy place, the desert
In your mind, whose winds hollow the sun-bleached
Hills, whose crisp sands sift sere across the stones,
Whose skies cry empty. The waiting is filled.
Green is no longer a memory here,
Harsh brown and burning red gone black by night
Under lightless heavens, the stars gone dark
A husk now empty of every spark.