where wind passes through a hollow
a ghost carries
aired tan bones
like a pile of kindling
fuel for a fire
lit amongst the fog
of a grey man floating
without borders
where stones meet stones
a heart carries
white bones covered in flesh
like a pile of pride
fuel for a fire
lit amongst the wreckage
of red covered fields
with borders
where just before soaring
a soul carries
a soul carries
timed bones
like a pile of truth
fuel for a fire
lit amongst the passing breath
of gratitude
