Treasure

Treasure

Twice now the younger dog has brought home bony bits of dried, twisted skin, one side pale-
rough, the other dense with soft brown fur 

so like her own. I too have nosed some treasure out of forest duff, like this banded owl feather,
this red squirrel skull

and thought it good fortune. Today, as the swallows traced their vivid stories in the air, a woman
awoke at her own wake

to surprise those gathered round her coffin. Life isn’t meant to be contained. We draw this
evidence toward us, scanning the lost

to feel found. Here, the dog pants happily above her piece of gristle, her tail mimicking sky
and swallows. Who am I

to fight this instinct? Alive, for now. If this moose jaw spoke from the shelf, it might ask me to
carry it out the door 

and there is only one reason to refuse. Like a dog with a bone. Out there, swallows fill the sky,
rising and falling with quick, sure wings.