The night’s small offerings to the road
are easy to lift: wrapped in a leaf
or carried on a bier of two stout twigs
an empty drink cup in the ditch will do
if a scoop is needed
Their still, often neat bodies
of feathers and beaks
of claws and fur
tiny red stick legs and translucent wings
or simple uncoiled lengths
finally agree
to settle
deep into the long grass
and wait for the seasons.
But some
if I come too late
cannot be pried from the asphalt
black as a clean slate
they are too small
the load that felled them
too exact:
these, after a few soft words, I leave
their diminishing flesh and precise skeletons
recording history
~~~
A Space to be Filled 
I got the link to work! Must have been me- even better have read it at night, just having climbed into bed. This is one of my favourites!
LikeLike
I am glad, Kim, and thank you for your comment. I often think of you and the woods behind your house as I’m in the woods behind my house.
LikeLike
🙂 I am glad, Kim, and thank you for your comment. I often think of you and the woods behind your house as I’m in the woods behind my house.
LikeLike