Bones of Summer

Whistler, BC

Skeletons on parade:
                  dressed in meat,   flesh
                 donning exoskeleton
                 adorned by fox.

and they're levering the knee
                 ascending stair
                 hefting all accumulations
                 of their craving
                 which grabs & slacks
                 skeltering
                 wrapping up his wounded wrist
                 leading with the belly
                 Starbucks gript in fingers
                 limping up the concrete
                 wrinkling the ham string
                 sluicing up some
                 symptoms of July.

The couple grasping hands.
The women stroking.
The peddlers clenching dust.
The wheelbarrow fulls of belly.
The second round, infused with grapefruit.
The zip gear falling round his ankles.
The tanned expanse of foreleg.

Imbibing some clean fragrance:
                 pine and deep fry.

We're on an apex
                 cathedrals for the worship:
                 praise to gravity.
                 (Even as the feathers
                                   of the crow
                                   notched by age
                                   scrape the summer roughly
                 suggesting winter stillness
                                   that will paralyze,
                                   and bury us in ice.)

But for today, we sport the
                 tie dye, we
                 strap some loops of
                 webbing, we
                 closet several symbols
                 of our freedom, we
                 bump our frame forward
                 cascading stair
                 slinging carabiners
                 on these hips, we
                 hold our kidneys
                 beneath rayon printed pineapple.

Dearest Mother, with her dearest
                 daughter
                 dresses matching, printed pink
                 joined by hands
                 climb the concrete
                 upbound ski hill under sky.