like that was a truth we moved
thru time to realize. The image
I got was skeletons dancing;
can that be our life? --the hidden truth
of those Mexican figures
in painted clay or paper-maché:
skeleton musicians, skeleton cabbies,
skeleton doctors, skeleton hair-
dressers even. All made ghosts
by the presence of death in life
showing thru the daily fabric. Then,
a sudden laughing life-sized figure
danced before my eyes with green
fruiting cactus and bright flowers and birds
rising from between its fleshless bones.
Graced with colorful vitality, it
haunts me with the fact that
other lives may live my death in the act of
being variously born.
Triumph rises in the living life
that knows itself already sacrificed.