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The Long Bones


“ . . . at this moment, or any moment, we are only a cross-section of our real selves. What we really are is the whole stretch of ourselves, all our time . . .”—J. B. Priestley, Time and the Conways (1937)


The long bones speak as plainly as the skull,

and the tomb's paleolithic, not mine;

the vessel took on flesh to shape its hull--

dreams dreamt up in a forgotten valley.

This life of ours is but a pinhole sally,

the puzzle is to fit it all together and hear

the long bones speaking, near.


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