She enters hollow bone,
turns marrow (the gravity mask).
Sorry the bones will say, and fall.
She turns her eyes upside down,
sees the descent ascend.
On the ground you'll build a cabin
out of bones and woman, in-between.
Hair and skin insulate,
keep in the bone-chill.
There are the fallen and the brought down.
The wish for weightlessness, the want of a home.
Once there was a woman, a bird.
A stone, a bone, next to two bodies,
a heaviness to grasp.
There's song inside the hollow.
A whistle, hum, a shatter.
Talk of shrapnel, scalpel.
She should have emptied out her bones.