Bones

I gave you my bones
to have
to make things from.

You took the bag of them.
I gave myself grief and misery about houses and friends, about the bitter and willful end. I mourned my parents though they are not yet dead.
I sat with the rain and let the thistles sting my feet.
I let the stones cut me deep and the granite bruise my heels.
Heavy landings for a burden beast.

Past an eclipse a sweet ether emits from me
and I become another person.
Some scripture burns in my fires
and I am suddenly unburdened.

Some colours ignite
and I see my horizon
Maybe you can’t be crucified
if there is no hill to die on?

I guess I gave you my bones
to get you to see what I am made of.
Now I give myself back my body
my own soul
my voice
and everything else that I am afraid of.