Hold my bones. Hold them tightly until you hear them groan under the pressure. Carry them on your back, through desserts and forests and lay then down at night under the moon. Faint them the colors of the skies. Write poems along the edges. Make necklace of my finger-bones and use my femure to pound wild rhythm onto the earth. Bury them!! Bury them in the place where you collapsed, unable to go on. Bury me there with your bare hands. Then clean your nails and bite your lips. Do not say a prayer for me. Your feet and the distance that they've traveled have done that already. SLEEP. When the morning comes, go HOME. Do not turn and look back. You mustn't see my bones rise from the dirt and walk in the opposite direction. You mustn't see them gleam white as they disappear over the horizon, in the light of the rising sun.
Things we believe dead, should stay so.
And I will do the same, since I've carried your bones too.
Things we believe dead, should stay so.
And I will do the same, since I've carried your bones too.
