just where it now lies I can no longer say    I found it on a cold and November day    in the roots of a sycamore tree where it had hid so long    in a box made out of myrtle lay the bone of song    the bone of song was a jawbone old and bruised    and worn out in the service of the muse    and along its sides and teeth were written words    I ran my palm along them and I heard    lucky are you who finds me in the wilderness    I am the only unquiet ghost that does not seek rest    the words on the bone of song were close and small    and though their tongues were dead I found I knew them all    in the hieroglyphs of quills and quatrain lines    Osiris—the fall of Troy—Auld Lang Syne    Kathleen Mauvoreen—Magnificat—Your Cheatin’ Heart    the chords of a covenant king singing for the Ark    then I saw on a white space that was left    a blessing written older than the rest    it said leave me here I care not for wealth or fame    I’ll remember your song – but I’ll forget your name    the words that I sang blew off like the leaves in the wind    and perched like birds in the branches before landing on the bone again    then the bone was quiet it said no more to me    so I wrapped it in the ribbons of a sycamore tree    and as night had come I turned around and headed home    with a lightness in my step and a song in my bones    lucky are you who finds me in the wilderness    I am the only unquiet ghost that does not seek rest