When it was time to bring up his bones someone knew just
where to look:
An old family secret of the key to the door of the room
with the trunk
Or the ancestral memory of the great-grandson of his
faithful dog
Or he himself in a dream or a vision: “Remember my
bones.”
(Something my father wrote)
What
need will arise that we'll need the old man's bones?
Will they be properly buried or in a battered trunk
Covered with faded stickers? Perhaps they'll be
Leaning casually against some wall, waiting to be noticed.
It may be that they've been busy in the world,
Catching eels and elves and elvers, making lanterns
So small as to be of no use to anyone larger than a mouse.
Must the old man's soul be conjured up or has a new one
Been traveling herewards for some time, walking some days
And others taking the trains wealthy shadows use
When they need to suddenly leave town forever?
Will they be properly buried or in a battered trunk
Covered with faded stickers? Perhaps they'll be
Leaning casually against some wall, waiting to be noticed.
It may be that they've been busy in the world,
Catching eels and elves and elvers, making lanterns
So small as to be of no use to anyone larger than a mouse.
Must the old man's soul be conjured up or has a new one
Been traveling herewards for some time, walking some days
And others taking the trains wealthy shadows use
When they need to suddenly leave town forever?
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