The Bone Servant

I saw the bone servant
tonight
under the last full moon
of summer,
nightmare bright,
in the corner of my eye,
with his raw skin
and new hands
that could not focus.

His gait dragged
west wind sad,
his mouth crossed with thistles,
and his coat dangled
off his wrists
as a different person.
And his eyes,
his eyes
were the color of jet
and wide open
like a new house
waiting for its first guests
to wipe their feet
and enter.

He whistled high
and sweet
as he crawled
inside me
with his tiny trowel
and buttons like fresh pennies
to shake at morning,
and his whispers were thin
at the nape of my neck
where hairs stood up
hoping he would see.

He carried his story on his back
and his voice,
his voice
sang river dark
along my spine -
so much blue
that my ears
wanted to crawl away .
He put his hands
on my face
searching for breath
and begged me
to bind his feet
and bathe his wounds
in sweet oil

And his tears,
his tears
were wings
shard white and weary,
broken
by my fingers
and tasted
oh, so delicate
bird sweet
and just like
everything

I ever wanted...