A SKELETON'S TALE The skeleton was sad. He lived in a crypt on fire. Although he was all bones, he owned a heart. His heart had adapted to the flames, but he feared someday it'd turn into smoke. Some nights when the fire died down he'd take his heart from behind his ribs, cup it in his bone hands and talk to it. I won't let you turn to smoke, he'd say. One day there won't be any walls to hold us. One day we'll lie in a green field and there'll be tall grass instead of flames. One day the only heat will be from the faraway sun. One day I'll grow skin and you'll live in cool shade and we'll sleep on clover beneath the moon. Then he'd place his heart back behind his ribs and endure the fire. -Page 14, THE SKELETON SUTRAS
