Bones

All his life they stood firm in the storm.

Now flesh is gone,
brain and glands, binding sinew,
and muscle.

Bones are tumbled and strewn on the ground.
They lie as in contemplation.

They could be stones,
except stones take longer to crumble.

A dry wind blows.
It covers and uncovers those bones.

So I must ask:
what is it he is trying to say?
Who once
on this stage was an actor
and then was gone.

His lines are written in chalk:
signature: his bones.