All of the bones in my immediate view are friendly ones, nothing like mean bones. Nothing like closet bones covered with other beautiful baggage. These bones have stories, and I found them out when I found them in the ground. Found out we were all the same because these bones are also incomplete, and even if I piece them together the edges will never meet. As we sit pasted to the walls of the canyon across the room in admiration, greens and light in between, shadows in the stark white.