A Mule Bone
I walked my bones
Toward a hairline horizon
of molten sounds of wind.
On a quiver of arrows
and splintered thoughts.
On sand almost sea.
Where wings beat backwards
and the sun shines unspent,
underground and under wood.
I walked with a handful of miracles,
a testament to a scavenger’s loop.
But not one stone to suck for water.
A mule bone is all I have. That beast
died of thirst and dropped like
straw for the fire. A fallen fruit.
Happened somewhere between
over there and nowhere.
4b 4 or 5 Book titles. ©️ Misky 2020