bellehaine:

They were bare. And I remember the crunch of their dead below them.

I recall the song that sounded through the air as they shook at its lyrics. A dismal tone, an acrid message.

But it’s only a memory.

For now they aren’t bare; and their dead are awakened.

Many different songs play from many different musicians. A sweet tune, a playful rhythm.

But I’ll never know it.

I am bare. And I cannot hear the harmony of the living above me.