DREAM OF HOLLOW BONE

Going to war, 
I met a shivering skeleton
who'd already been.

My skin was still clean
and squeaked in the wind.
But he strummed his ribs like a harp,
his skull a hollow drum in the rain.
Where his heart used to be was a mirror.

He said, "I am looking for the one
who tore my flesh off like old clothes,
the one who's made me so long wear nothing.
If I do not find him you will do."

He opened his arms
and long serpents of rain curled 'round them.

Suddenly my skin glassed clear as water,
poured into a puddle at my feet.
In the grave my bones spelled out his name, 
as long snakes of rain whispered lullabies,
as black cloudbursts of buzzards fell,
and the muddy music of earth caved in.

—Robert S. KIng

Robert S. King is the editor at
The Whistle Press



All rights to this poem belong to its author.

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