Bone Days

 
Sometimes I feel like I'm just my frame of bones,
My muscles, sinew, skin all fled
Inside I rattle, upheld.

If feeling's a sound, I knock together

in a rhythm that calls out:

Where are you heart?

Where are you skin?

Where are you strength?

I'm just a frame sometimes.

Then I wake up the next day,

And find everything where it is supposed to be

All together.

I'm not sure why these bone days happen.

They used to scare me.

But maybe they are supposed to happen,

so I can remember that even in loneliness

I can make music. 

The percussion of myself

is just laying frame,

before the melody can land again.