No One’s Boneless

A dark-eyed boy was buried
In the mountains yesterday.
One is buried every day,

But you can’t tell all their tales,
And, truth to tell, most of them,
Don’t have stories of their own.

No one really has stories,
Any more than houses have
The people passing through them.

This dark-eyed boy, he was kind.
He never grew up enough
To do things he regretted

For the rest of his long life,
Shames that he kept secreted
In a memory closet

And was only startled by
When he entered his bedroom
One afternoon and startled

A dark-eyed boy half-buried
In a mountain of old clothes
In the back of his closet.