All that's left, substantially.
The structure kept in the three-dimensional world,
Backbones and spines and ribs,
Cranes, femur and phalanxes.
But they're no more than memories,
A touchpoint of the past.

Everything else flows like the wind,
Present, but invisible.
Important, but immaterial.
Immortal, but perishable.

Bones are frozen clocks,
Remnants of stories and events.
In the end, they're more important as records
Than as personal memories.