This one starts with a few questions.
"Gnawed Bones.
If language is bones, hard parts of speech,
what do skulls of pack rats crushed into owl pellets
have to tell us?
If this delicate pelvis once balanced a gravid javelina,
what word passes on to her shoats?
If cicada shells hang on like single mothers starved
for touch, what does hot wind whisper through them?
If every day re-enacts creation, if we live here
now in the First World and the last, let
us speak in our bones' languages of water from all skies,
from deep underground.
Let our bones quench the thirst of history,
thirst for all we yearn to sip, marrow of each dry tongue."