In the gully along the trail
Deer bones lay scattered, forgotten toys.
Picked clean of meat and worm devoured,
Set a snowy white in the sweltering June.
Deep inside the sun bleached skull,
The empty arroyo of the eyes
Examines the same small bit of ground
But all it sees is endless dirt.
Foliage hugs the skeleton close
Gripping the shards of deer remains
Grinds the bones into a fine dust
And to each their separate end:
The pulling of body back into earth
I, too, can feel it in my bones.
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