Magnetic mallets gradually erase two long tape loops.
What does a bone know?
That grief is a pile of bones laid out by a wooden post
Washed so white by time that only the sea knows its real color
That grief is a rocky island, covered in clouds, made sharp by the wind
Go there, but do not stay. I, too, have been there, says the bone
Text by Kathy Sirico, read by Talea Lupin