Saw a skull
then a jaw
unearthed
this tibia
and under ice
a metatarsus.
Here lace-like fibula fell from the sky
as a hummingbird
and a hawk moth
plummeted,
singing with their wings.
Things fall apart.
I lose the name for,
forget the feel of
the curve in the arm that held me.
This is because
I fear leaving behind too much
for others to pick up.
Wait.
Is this true?
No. It isn't.
I wouldn't mind
at all
if when I'm gone
someone came along,
placed a phalange
from my bony hand
among lost eggs
and bits of coal
they found
along a
new-formed shoal.
