The Dead Things - Milton Ravenscroft

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I will not dress

the dead things of my life

waking each day

to clothe

the bones of my past

as if that empty

bleached frame

still had a breath

a heartbeat

a dance

a lesson to teach

I have clung to

these ancient bones

carried these sharp edged things

allowed them to pierce

long enough

the fierce edges of my soul

carve jagged shapes

in my heart

And yet their cutting

has opened a mystery

a path along which

the terrifying beauty

of many strange worlds

flows into

my cup of being

Now the velvet earth

calls them home

ash and dust their destiny

only the flow remains

No longer

will I dress

the dead things

instead I will

place a stone

a feather

a prayer

reminders of

all they gave me (made me)

and where they lay

Passing by

I’ll pause

to breath

to bow