borrowed bones by David McLean

i have borrowed my meat from ghosts
who did not use it in their exile,
and my erect bone is on loan
from heaven, carefully shaved
by painstaking angels.

my skeleton belongs to several cemeteries
really, patient and forgetful it waits inside me
to escape. god had laid a stolen table
for me, a trap in the house of my several
enemies, while i picked my bone of glory

from his pocket, he has never forgotten this
but assures me that he forgives
everything – it is his sickness,
to remember the stolen bone
and forgive it nevertheless