bones

i can hear the wind knocking your insides around. it can be a lonely sound, the jostling of your bones against one another, clacking into the debris filled sky like wood. no wonder we feel so close to trees; some have begun putting their ashes with the seeds in the hope of living twice, maybe even longer this time around. the douglas firs fear the holidays: in the winter i burn my bones, embers catch in the corners and smoke fills the room, removes the oxygen